


Rain Falls

by verhalen



Series: Learning To Fly [1]
Category: Flameborn (Multiverse), TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Porn, Arguing, Banter, Birthday Sex, Birthday Smut, Biting, Blood Kink, Break Up, Broken Engagement, Cheating, Christmas Smut, Clubbing, Cuddlefucking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Bliss, Dorks in Love, Dying whale noises, Elves Reborn As Mortal, Engagement, Falling In Love, Food Sex, Frenemies, Gay Sex, George the Wig, Hair-pulling, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Rip Out Your Heart And Stomp On It, Ice Play, Idiots in Love, Incest Kink, Kitchen Sex, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Living Together, London, Love Bites, M/M, Magical Realism, Makeup Sex, Marriage Proposal, Meeting the Parents, Modern Era, Nipple Piercings, Nude Beach, Office Blow Jobs, Office Sex, Opposites Attract, Oral Sex, Paris (City), Past Abuse, Past Lives, Past Rape/Non-con, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Post-Canon, Prophetic Dreams, Rape Recovery, Reincarnation, Relationship Issues, Relationship Problems, Relationship Study, Rimming, Road Head, Rough Sex, Sauna, Scratching, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Roleplay, Shower Sex, Sleep Deprivation, Sleeping In Public, Sleepy Sex, Slice of Life, Some Humor, Soren being Soren, Spanking, Star-crossed, Straight Razors, Stripper Dancing Sören, Stuffed Toys, Sweet/Hot, Topping from the Bottom, Touch-Starved, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Unhappy Ending, Visions in dreams, Wall Sex, Weekend Away, this will fuck you up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-01-25 21:24:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 44
Words: 300,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21362908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: In London in 2011, a neurosurgeon and a barrister meet and fall in love.  They are each other's refuge from the hectic world, and work towards building a future together.  And in their dreams, they see glimpses of what might have been the past; as yet unbeknownst to them it was in fact the past, their bond beginning in another lifetime.  And now, as then, that bond begins to break.
Relationships: Anthony Hewlett-Johnson (OMC)/Sören Sigurðsson (OMC), Fëanor/Finarfin
Series: Learning To Fly [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539544
Comments: 275
Kudos: 74





	1. Investigation

**Author's Note:**

> Sören Sigurðsson, Anthony Hewlett-Johnson and Anthony's family are my OCs. For more information, please refer to my [Transformative Works Statement](https://verhalen.dreamwidth.org/263827.html).
> 
> **December 2020:** For mental health reasons, some very minor edits were made to this fic. The comments were made in the first edition and a few may reflect the discrepancies.
> 
>   
(banner made by me)

**November 2011**  
_London, England_  
  
  
It was a clear and brisk day, and Sören Sigurðsson was outside on his break. The twenty-six-year-old neurosurgeon was glad for a breath of fresh air, the coolness after the heat he always generated when operating, a chance to "dial back" from the surgery he'd just performed and take in the blue sky, the landscaping of the hospital grounds, though it was a bit less impressive in early winter. Here was a moment of peace, where he could just be before going inside for the last few hours of his shift. Nice and quiet. Blissful solitude -  
  
"Sören Sigurðsson?"  
  
It was an unfamiliar voice. Baritone register, Londoner if he had to place the accent - though he'd only been in the UK since the summer of 2010 and hadn't quite figured it all out yet, he was getting better at determining accents. Sören glanced over his shoulder, annoyed at being interrupted on his break by someone who didn't know him, even more annoyed that it was a suit. Although, the man in the charcoal grey suit was _quite_ attractive - about two inches taller than Sören's six feet, broad-shouldered, trim, short black hair, wide-set green eyes. On the pale side, clear-complexioned, clean-shaven, with high cheekbones, a full, generous mouth, strong jawline, a bit of an intense smoulder to him yet still boyishly handsome. He looked thirtysomething at the oldest, probably not that much older than Sören.  
  
"Jæja?" Sören tried not to glare, not wanting to come off as totally rude, but he couldn't keep the note of irritation out of his voice.  
  
The man stepped forward. "I was told you'd be out here," he said, sounding somewhat apologetic, as if he knew Sören was on break and he was interrupting that precious time. He extended his hand - manicured, Rolex watch, long, elegant fingers... the kind of smooth, soft hands of someone who'd never done hard labor. Sören hated shaking hands with strangers, as a surgeon who had to wash his hands constantly, and also where if something happened to his hand, like a sprain or a break, that was very bad for his job. Not that handshakes tended to result in that, but Sören was paranoid, especially when he'd had to deal with hysterical family members of patients in the past. Nonetheless, Sören took the suit's hand. The man had a strong grip, both assuring and dominating.  
  
"I'm Anthony Hewlett-Johnson," the man said, giving a thin, aloof smile that did not meet his eyes. "Criminal defense barrister -"  
  
Sören rolled his eyes and let out a deep sigh. "If you're here about Rafferty, I've already spoken to solicitors."  
  
"Yes, Mr. Sigurðsson, I'm aware of that. I'm here to do a followup. I prefer to err on the side of being thorough, leaving none of the proverbial stones unturned. My colleagues may not appreciate that, but my clients do."  
  
Sören pursed his lips. This was the last thing he wanted to do on his break; at least this Anthony Hewlett-Johnson was easy on the eyes, and easy to listen to. Sören's eyes raked him up and down, taking him in. "Go on."  
  
"I'd like to ask you some questions, and if possible, be taken on a tour of where Mr. Rafferty performed the operation he's being sued for. Have a glance at the lighting, equipment... that sort of thing."  
  
Pete Rafferty had been suspended following a charge of criminal negligence - operating under the influence. The patient had died, which of course created a bit of a scandal for the hospital, and just the event of the death had been fairly traumatic for the entire staff, especially those who had witnessed it.  
  
"We'll go on the tour first," Sören said.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Sigurðsson."  
  
Sören narrowed his eyes. After living in the UK for over a year, he'd gotten used to the inevitability that he would be addressed by his last name, but it was properly a patronymic and not a surname - in Iceland everyone was on a first-name basis, no matter who they were, and it was seen as a bit of a faux pas to call someone by their last name. Sören was used to it now, but he still didn't like it, and being interrupted on his break increased the annoyance he'd otherwise feel. And he really hated the British custom of specialists being called "Mister" instead of "Doctor". "_I. AM. A. DOCTOR_." he'd ranted privately to his cousin after he'd moved. That was just the icing on the cake of his annoyance.  
  
Anthony Hewlett-Johnson was not kidding when he said he preferred to err on the side of being thorough, wanting a demonstration of the lights and all the equipment in the operating room, not currently in use. He took notes as Sören showed that everything was fully functional, and then Sören took him back outside, because he would be damned if he wasn't getting at least some fresh air. A little bit of wind was kicking up now, carrying the notes of Anthony's cologne, a cool, clean scent, rain or ocean notes, with a touch of warm musk underneath. It was likely expensive, and just enough to make a good impression without being overpowering. Sören liked it. Under other circumstances he would have asked what it was.  
  
"The deceased had been to you for scans and advisement before the procedure. Were there any contraindicators for surgery? Any underlying health problems that would have made the surgery higher risk, a higher chance for dying under the knife?"  
  
"No," Sören said.  
  
More notes. "To my understanding, you reported Rafferty to your chief physician?"  
  
Sören nodded. "We were doing two different procedures but we were scrubbing in at the same time and he seemed... off."  
  
There was a pause, and then the next question. "What was your relationship like with Peter Rafferty?"  
  
"Honestly? We weren't friends, we didn't like each other much."  
  
This, of course, was exactly the sort of thing the lawyer was looking for, the "gotcha". Rafferty hadn't been blood tested before or after the procedure, so the intoxication couldn't be proven beyond doubt that way. All the prosecution had to work with was witnesses.  
  
"Why was that?"  
  
Sören wanted to say "none of your business", feeling uncomfortable discussing this sort of thing with a stranger, but he knew that if he withheld information that might actually do more harm than good, somehow. "I was at the Pride parade over the summer, marching with a few colleagues and other doctors from other branches of the NHS system. We had some photos taken of us, our names got on social media and in the newspapers. Rafferty of course couldn't say anything to my face without getting fired, but he, you know. Is a pretty outspoken Tory, telly would be on in the break room and he'd say stuff like 'what this country needs is a return to _traditional values_' and he'd glare at me. Passive-aggressive shite... er, stuff... like referring to me as 'you' and the other doctors by their names. A _look_ on his face when he talked to me like he was smelling something foul or had just sucked on a lemon. Giving me a wider physical berth than he gave other people. Those little tells. All little things, but they added up. He didn't like me, I didn't like him, it was sort of a hostile work environment."  
  
"And when you reported him... that was prior to his procedure?"  
  
"Correct. He obviously was still allowed to perform, though my complaint may not have been noted until the operation was already underway. I really don't know."  
  
"You said there was something 'off' about him. Off how?"  
  
Sören closed his eyes for a moment, recalling what he'd seen in his mind's eye. He opened them to Anthony's watchful green eyes. "Unsteady gait, slightly slurred speech. He had beer breath. Not enough where you could smell him a kilometer away, but enough that up close..."  
  
"And you're quite sure it was beer you smelled, not, for example, the breath of someone having a diabetic sugar episode or with another health condition."  
  
"I'll never say I'm 100% sure on the 0.5% chance I might be wrong, but I've smelled glycemic imbalances before, dental conditions, other things... this wasn't that. Plus that combined with the way he was walking, talking..."  
  
"So you've had experience observing people under the influence? Are you a bit of a drinker yourself, Mr. Sigurðsson?"  
  
Sören normally wouldn't disclose something like this to a total stranger, but he bristled at the way that was worded, and reacted. "My guardians were alcoholics, I think I'm probably an expert on that subject."  
  
Anthony's expression had been neutral thus far, but Sören noted a little frown and tightness around his eyes. There was a pause before he fired off his next question. "So you reporting him was strictly because of that, and not because his dislike of you being part of the LGBT community."  
  
Sören nodded. "I would have reported him regardless of my personal feelings for him. Even if it was one of the surgeons I'm friendly with. If someone can do their job - and Rafferty was a damn fine surgeon up to this point - I don't care what their bloody politics are, I care that they can get shit done." Once again the swearing came out, and Sören felt a bit self-conscious, letting it slip in front of someone posh, cultured, but he wasn't here to impress the guy - handsome that he was - he was here to answer questions. "And if someone _can't_ do their job because they're too fucked up on alcohol or drugs or they haven't gotten enough sleep or what have you, I don't care about their personal relationship to me, I care about the safety of that patient. I don't want blood on my hands because I'd rather score popularity points than listen to my conscience."  
  
"Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Sigurðsson. And for your conscience."  
  
Sören glared, feeling like flames could shoot from his eyes. "You thank me for my conscience, but you're fucking defending this guy? _He made a fuckup and killed someone_ -"  
  
Anthony's expression was no longer neutral. His nostrils flared slightly. He squared his shoulders. "It's my job," he said, his irritation cold rather than hot, lowering his voice instead of raising it. "We don't get to pick and choose our clients, no more than you get to pick or choose your patients. And in this country, people get a fair trial. Most people _with a conscience_ would prefer it be so, even at the distaste of defending the indefensible, rather than someone being thrown in prison without a chance to prove one's innocence. In countries where that's done, it goes hand in hand with other human rights violations. I will defend ninety-nine guilty people to make sure one innocent isn't wrongly imprisoned. I will defend ninety-nine monsters to ask for leniency for one who chose the wrong path because they didn't have better choices."  
  
_That sounds personal._ Sören decided not to pry. "Fair enough," he said. "I can respect that. Are you done with your questions, Mr. Hewlett-Johnson?"  
  
"_Är du från Sverige? Jag tog några års ledighet från skolan till turné Västeuropa och Skandinavien var min favoritdel av turnén._"  
  
Sören was caught off guard, and strangely charmed by this question. Suddenly, between his justification for defending Rafferty, and knowing a Nordic language, this Anthony seemed quite a bit more likable. Though the question had been in Swedish, he replied in Danish, his third language - he didn't speak Swedish, though Danish and Swedish were for the most part mutually intelligible. "_Jeg er fra Island. Født i Akureyri, var kirurg på hospitalet i Reykjavik, før jeg kom hit for et år siden._"  
  
Anthony nodded slowly, taking it in. "Icelandic. I did think that was strange for a Swedish accent." He quickly added, "Not that your accent is strange. I quite like it."  
  
"I've gotten that a lot." Sören's weight shifted from one foot to the other, his cheeks burning. He didn't want to like this guy, but he did. "So anything else? Am I dismissed?"  
  
"There is one more thing." Their eyes met. "Would you like to go out for dinner sometime? I know you've got rotating shifts, so the word 'dinner' is flexible - when we've mutually got some time off."  
  
Sören cocked his head to one side. He was taken aback. "You mean... like, a date?"  
  
"Yes. I'm gay."  
  
It came out before Sören could stop himself. "Hi Gay, I'm Sören."  
  
Anthony laughed - a genuine laugh, which made Sören smile. Which in turn produced a genuine smile from Anthony, smiling with his eyes and showing brilliant straight white teeth, not the fake disarming tight smile of earlier. It was warm. Dazzling. His entire face lit up; the entire world seemed to light up.  
  
"Shit, you probably regret asking now," Sören said.  
  
"No. I don't." The smile was softer, but still genuine. "If anything, I'm even more convinced asking you was the right decision. I needed that."  
  
Sören smirked. "Hi Even More Convinced -"  
  
Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Don't push it."  
  
"Oh, but pushing it is fun. I push it real good."  
  
Anthony caught the innuendo and turned a little pink, giving a guilty grin that all but shouted _Mind, gutter_. Sören's cheeks flushed too - he was surprised by the return of the devil-may-care attitude, the glimpse of the old him that he'd thought long since gone. And Sören felt a little flutter. He hadn't dated anyone since he'd moved to London - not only did he have a busy schedule, but the set of experiences that had prompted his exodus from his home country had put him off to bars, the club scene, and online dating services. He was wary. But he couldn't deny he missed companionship, he missed touch, he missed sex. And with dating another professional, Anthony would likely "get it" with being busy, and time being precious, so at least they had that going for them.  
  
"So is that a yes, then?" Anthony looked a little hopeful.  
  
Sören did some mental calculations. "It's Thursday the seventeenth... as things go, I actually have this Saturday night free, the nineteenth, and most of Sunday the twentieth. I'll have to be back at work in the evening, but I can either do Saturday night or Sunday brunch if -"  
  
"Saturday night? Is 7 OK?"  
  
Sören nodded. "Seven is good. You have anywhere in mind? I'm still getting a feel for London and what's good -"  
  
"What part of London are you in? I don't want you to have to travel too far."  
  
"Bromley."  
  
Anthony thought for a moment, and suggested a restaurant. Upmarket, fusion cuisine. "We can go elsewhere if you've got any dietary restrictions..."  
  
"I don't, so we can go there. Should I meet you there?"  
  
"I don't mind picking you up, but if you'd rather meet me there that works. I'd like to pay for you, though, I'm a bit old-fashioned that way."  
  
"OK." Sören smiled again. "Well, that made up for you intruding on my break."  
  
Anthony gave a nervous chuckle. "This made up for me having to come out here to bother you."  
  
They exchanged cell numbers, and then Anthony was on his way with a smile and a wave. Sören had a little spring in his step when he went back inside the hospital and he got through the last few hours of his shift without feeling ready to fall over. On the Tube ride back home, Sören was actually singing.


	2. Stars Align

Sören opted to walk from his flat over to the fusion restaurant where he'd be meeting his date, for once grateful for a walk and the chance to burn off his nervous energy so he wouldn't hem and haw over his outfit for the fiftieth time. When not in his medical scrubs, Sören was a T-shirt and jeans guy, but the restaurant was a little too upmarket to get away with dressing down completely - at the same time a suit and tie would have been too dressy, which Sören was grateful for. He certainly appreciated the way a suit looked on Anthony, but Sören loathed wearing suits himself. Sören's idea of dressing up was leather pants and some sort of flamboyant top, an outfit that was more Adam Ant or Jack Sparrow than GQ. After going back and forth between five different tops he'd chosen a black ruffly poet's shirt to go with his leather pants. He had his nape-length dark curls loose rather than in the man bun he kept them in at the hospital, and he took out the studs he wore in his ears when at work - not allowed more than stud earrings per NHS regulations - and replaced them with small silver hoops. It wasn't quite raining outside, but it was foggy and damp enough for Sören to forego the mascara and eyeliner. With the walk, Sören opted for his lighter leather jacket rather than the full-length leather duster, not wanting to be too warm.  
  
He also wondered how the clean-cut lawyer would react to seeing him like this. But Sören figured that Anthony already got a look at him, bearded, seeing his hair was long enough to be worn up, pierced ears visible; he wore long-sleeved scrubs to cover the sleeve tattoos on his arms but he was sure the ink on his wrists had shown at least once when he'd moved around. So Anthony couldn't be too surprised if Sören walked in looking a bit more untamed. Sometimes posh liked a bit of rough, and Sören could go for a dapper gentleman when he wasn't going for longhaired rocker types like himself.  
  
Sören couldn't remember the last time he'd been this nervous on a date. Some of the anxiety, of course, was the new normal that had crept up around the idea of dating in general since The Incident in early 2010, the one that gave him a strong shove out of Iceland. Sören felt wary around anyone and everyone - "Schrodinger's Rapist", he'd said to his cousin some months after the fact. But most of the anxiety wasn't apprehension of allowing himself to relax around a near-stranger. It was the funny little flutter he got in his stomach when he thought of Anthony, like his brain had decided to compensate for not having a crush on anyone in two years by _really_ having a crush on someone. The way Anthony had met his challenge on Thursday had earned his respect, feeling the strength and solidity behind his words. He was articulate, intelligent. That, even moreso than Anthony's good looks, was compelling.  
  
Sören's heart was pounding when he got to the restaurant, and not from the walk. He took a few deep breaths as he walked in. "You got this," he said under his breath.  
  
Out of the glass foyer, the maître d' waited, giving Sören a glance as Sören stepped past the people seated on leather benches, waiting for a table to open. "Hi, I'm with Hewlett-Johnson, party of two," Sören said.  
  
The maître d' nodded and gestured. "Right this way."  
  
Sören walked through a maze of stained glass and gold and silver lighting, to a wood-and-leather booth where Anthony Hewlett-Johnson was looking at his cell phone. He immediately put it away and sat up straighter, his face lighting up at the sight of Sören. Heat flooded Sören's face, giving back a shy smile as he pulled up a chair.  
  
"Sören, hi." Their eyes met. Anthony gave him the onceover before he sat. "You look... wow."  
  
Sören took off his leather jacket and sat. "Wow good, or wow bad?"  
  
"Wow good. Wow very, very good." Anthony poured him a glass of iced water and passed it over.  
  
"You look nice too." Sören had noticed Anthony's outfit - grey blazer, white shirt, black jeans, pointy black boots.  
  
"Thank you." Anthony passed him a menu. "I hope you're hungry."  
  
"Starving." Sören realized there was innuendo in there somewhere, confirmed at the wicked look in Anthony's eye as he opened the menu and glanced inside, and then kept glancing at Sören across the table. Sören had wondered, before he left the house, if he was getting laid tonight or if this was a "test the waters" date before more. Now, judging from the way Anthony kept looking at him, Sören thought to himself, _I am definitely getting laid tonight._ Already, his cock stirred.  
  
Sören went with bruschetta tandoori chicken, and Anthony had the pad thai quinoa bowl. They split a hummus appetizer, and after their menus were collected, Sören felt the anxiety settle in again. This time it was his shyness, intensified by the feeling of being under a microscope, that Anthony was going to be as meticulous in inspecting him as a potential partner as he was in his court cases.  
  
Anthony also seemed to be waiting for Sören to make the first move with conversation - which Sören supposed was natural since Anthony was a defense attorney. Even here he was defending, reacting rather than acting. Sören got the sense that Anthony _would_ take the initiative later... but only just so.  
  
Sören adjusted himself in his chair. "So... how was your week?" Sören raised an eyebrow. "Can you talk about the Rafferty case?"  
  
"I cannot," Anthony said, "but the sooner this bloody case is over and done with, the better. Rafferty is insufferable, and now that I know he's also a homophobe..." Anthony made a face before sipping his water. "We don't pick our clients. I wouldn't have picked this one."  
  
"Does he know you're gay?" Sören raised an eyebrow.  
  
Anthony shook his head. "I'm out on a need-to-know basis. I don't hide it, but I don't proclaim it to the world, either. If it's relevant to bring up, then it comes up. If not... then no."  
  
"Makes sense." Sören sipped his water. "Do your folks know?"  
  
"Yes. I didn't come out to them until my twenties were almost over, but my mum, bless her, already figured it out much earlier than that. My parents are more or less fine with it."  
  
"More or less?" Sören's lips quirked.  
  
"I think it makes my father slightly uneasy. He's never given me a hard time about it - I don't feel like I can't bring a serious partner around them. He's just. Typical straight male about that sort of thing."  
  
"You have brothers or sisters?"  
  
"No." Anthony frowned slightly. "Always wish I did, but... no. Only child." His eyebrows raised slightly. "You?"  
  
"I have a fraternal twin brother who's an astrophysicist -"  
  
"So brains run in your family, then."  
  
"My brother would beg to differ where I'm concerned." Sören gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "I could say the same about him on occasion. Brothers, man."  
  
"Anyone else?"  
  
"Já. I was raised by my aunt and uncle and their son grew up with us like a brother, he's a personal trainer back in Iceland." Sören gave a small, reluctant sigh. This was part of why he was shy about socializing much. "And I have an older sister. Well, had. She was murdered."  
  
"Oh no." Anthony's face fell. "I'm sorry. I can see now why you seemed rather irritated with my profession -"  
  
Sören waved his hand. "I know. You're fine, though. Let's... ah. Change of subject. You mentioned coming out when your twenties were almost over - how old are you?"  
  
"Thirty-one. I'll be thirty-two in February. You?"  
  
"Twenty-six." Sören nodded. "I'll be twenty-seven on Friday."  
  
"I hope you're getting some time off on your birthday!"  
  
"Jæja, I requested that entire weekend off. I don't normally take off an entire block like that. Some people buy themselves birthday gifts, I gave myself the gift of time."  
  
"Do you have plans?"  
  
"Sleep?" Sören gave a guilty grin. "I hadn't really thought that far ahead, honestly."  
  
Anthony seemed to chew on that, as if he was considering making plans with Sören, but wanted to see how the rest of the evening went. Sören could understand that.  
  
Their appetizer came, and there was a few moments of silence as they nibbled and waited for the next move. This time Anthony made it. "I take it you're out to your family."  
  
Sören nodded. "I came out when I was seventeen. My aunt and uncle... did not take it well."  
  
"The alcoholics."  
  
Sören sighed again. "You remembered that."  
  
"I remember things," Anthony said mildly. "So much of my job is that - listening, observing. Paying attention."  
  
Sören didn't know how to respond to that. He felt vaguely exposed, like a vulnerability of his was being probed. But not in an exploitative, take-advantage type way. Anthony's eyes were kind, and one of Anthony's hands was close to his now, fingertips touching.  
  
"The rest of my family knows. My brother and cousin are both bi like I am, so it's no big deal."  
  
"Ah," Anthony said. "So you're bisexual... not strictly gay."  
  
"Is that a dealbreaker?" Sören's stomach froze. It had been with some.  
  
"No."  
  
"Good," Sören said, before he could stop himself.  
  
Anthony smiled. "It does make me wonder what your dating history has been like, though."  
  
"Mostly nonexistent." Sören gave another self-deprecating chuckle. "I've never had a serious relationship. Not that I'm opposed to one, with the right person, but." Sören shrugged. "I was more into hookups when I lived in Iceland - men much moreso than women, if that's what you're asking about - but that hasn't been a thing since I left. I'm busy and I'm picky."  
  
"Well, if you're picky, I'm flattered that you agreed to go on a date with me. To be honest, I wasn't sure that you'd say yes."  
  
Sören's eyebrow went up at that. He cocked his head to one side. "You sure didn't act like you lacked confidence."  
  
"Of course not. Attorneys learn early on that you never show doubt, once you've shown that it's all over. But underneath that calm, polished exterior, I felt ready to scream. I think I hyperventilated for a good five minutes after I got in my car after our encounter on Thursday."  
  
Sören grinned. "I'm curious why you even asked, if you thought I might say no."  
  
"A risk of you saying no doesn't mean that you automatically would. It was worth the chance." Anthony's eyes raked him over again. "You're nice to look at, and you intrigued me."  
  
"_Intrigued._" Sören leaned back in his chair and sipped his water. "Now there's an interesting reaction."  
  
"Mmm."  
  
"So, what was it about me that _intrigued_ you, Mr. Hewlett-Johnson?"  
  
"Honestly? The fact that you weren't instantly impressed by me being a barrister, unlike much of the populace. You looked at me like I was a piece of human shit when I told you I defend criminals for a living. I felt like I was on trial, for a change, having to justify my profession to you. There was a real audacity there which I'm not used to. I wanted to be offended, and act like your opinion didn't matter - I came very close to meeting your challenge with 'I don't owe you an explanation'. But I did anyway. Because you have heart, that shows itself in your choice of profession, your choice to continue working for the NHS rather than the private sector, that shows itself in you reporting Rafferty, that shows itself in you being willing to be out and proud in a world that isn't always so accepting. And that heart, combined with your being a neurosurgeon which requires a certain degree of intelligence and competency... and a dash of that charming accent of yours, and my fondness for Scandinavian men... well... I wanted to see more."  
  
Sören smiled, genuinely touched - and a little turned on.  
  
"Now I'm curious why _you_ said yes," Anthony said. "Since you just admitted you're picky."  
  
"Well, you're gorgeous and I haven't been laid in awhile." Those words came out before Sören could stop himself, and Anthony turned pink, not able to restrain a grin. Sören grinned too. "But it's not all physical for me. I've gone this long without and I'd just, you know, keep using my hand. Er, sorry."  
  
"It's fine. We're both grown men..." Anthony's blush deepened. "Who do what grown men do."  
  
Sören snickered. The thought of Anthony relieving himself sent a surge of heat through him, and his breath hitched. Then he went on. "The answer you gave to my challenge impressed me. It showed conviction. It showed _purpose_. Not too many people have that nowadays. And when you asked me a question in Swedish, even though I'm not, you guessed -"  
  
"It was the name."  
  
Sören nodded. "It's less common in Iceland than it is in Sweden. It used to be more common - I was named for my great-grandfather! Anyway... you guessed and you were trying to be respectful, and... I don't know." Sören shrugged. "It just felt right, to say yes and see where this goes."  
  
"It felt right to ask and see where this goes."  
  
Their eyes met, and held.  
  
Their respective meals came and there was more silence - and more stolen glances - as they ate. Finally Anthony said, "I'm glad my response to your challenge was satisfactory."  
  
"Mostly."  
  
Anthony paused and gave Sören a quizzical look. "Mostly."  
  
Sören nodded. "It actually raised more questions for me. Like how you even got into law in the first place. In that branch of law."  
  
Anthony sat back in his chair. He looked at Sören again, had water, and Sören could see him collecting his thoughts, carefully formulating a response. Sören ate as he waited.  
  
"My uncle was like a second father to me," Anthony said a few moments later. "Perhaps more of a father than my actual father, who's... emotionally distant. My father's family has tended towards at least one male in the service per generation, for some time now, and for that generation it was my uncle... and it was also why that tradition hasn't carried on with me. He was in the Gulf, in the 1990s. He came back... a bit damaged."  
  
"When you say a bit damaged..."  
  
"Post-traumatic stress disorder that had a tendency to get violent if he was actively having a flashback. In one of his episodes, he ended up seriously injuring someone without meaning to. And there was quite a bit less understanding of mental health disorders and the impact war has on veterans, back in the 1990s, than there is now. Even now, it's far from adequate."  
  
Sören nodded solemnly.  
  
Anthony went on, "The health system failed him... and the criminal justice system could have failed him, but he was fortunate enough to be represented by a compassionate barrister, which is why my uncle had some more years as a part of my life, until he eventually took his own life."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
Anthony nodded. Now it wasn't just their fingertips touching across the table again, but Anthony put his hand on top of Sören's. Just that alone sent a frisson down Sören's spine, and he wondered what it would be like to have that hand touch him elsewhere later. He felt somewhat guilty for his mind going right there after Anthony's own display of vulnerability, but...  
  
"You get what it is to lose someone you love. I'm not glad it's a pain you've also endured but, it's something we both understand." Their eyes met and Anthony sipped water, frowning.  
  
"I do."  
  
"And that's the long and short of it, why I chose to specialize in criminal justice. For all of the rapists and thugs and murderers that I have to defend, there are, occasionally, people like my uncle. People like the clients I've had, plural, who've sold their bodies to feed their children. People like the clients who've fought back against abusive partners and they're the ones who end up in trouble rather than their abusers. I could go on and on, but you get the point. My job is thankless, apart from the veneer of prestige and the things it can buy me. Some days I question my sanity."  
  
Sören let that sink in. Anthony had already earned his respect on Thursday, but this was a new level of respect. Sören raised his glass in salute. "That was really touching. It... restores my faith in humanity, a little."  
  
"You know..." Anthony's eyes raked Sören again. "In the last few years I've been practicing law, you are the first person I've dated who's asked me _why_ I got into criminal defense."  
  
"_Really._" Sören could feel the confusion showing on his face. "Why _wouldn't_ someone want to ask about that?"  
  
"Because they'd rather talk about the money. I'm including fellow professionals in this. Doctors, lawyers. People in it for the money. I like the money, I wouldn't put up with this soul-sucking line of work this long if I didn't, but it gets... wearing."  
  
"That's so weird." Sören blinked slowly.  
  
"The fact that _you_ think this is weird tells me rather a lot about you, Sören."  
  
Sören felt disarmed again, but from the way Anthony was looking at him he could tell that statement was intended to be positive.  
  
"And now I have to ask... how did you get into medicine? And neurosurgery in particular?" Anthony gave Sören a long look.  
  
Sören took a deep breath. He hadn't wanted to get this personal on a first date, but since Anthony had lowered his guard a bit...  
  
"When I was almost six, my mamma died from what I now know is a brain aneurysm. I was the one who found her body and had to call the paramedics."  
  
"_Jesus._" Anthony winced like he was in pain.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sören immediately blurted out. "I know that's dark. I already started this date down the path of darkness bringing up my sister -"  
  
Anthony held up his hand for Sören to be silent. "Don't apologize. Please, continue."  
  
Sören nodded. "So. You know. I felt so _powerless._ Blaming myself, wishing I was a grownup and was a doctor, could have done something to save her life. And it was one of the most defining moments of my life, if not _the_ defining moment. Of course I realized many years later that it probably wouldn't have done me any good if I'd been a grownup and a doctor. She just lay down with a headache, took a nap, and died. Nothing could have been done, probably. But I decided then, at age six, that I was going to become a doctor. And of course when I got old enough and started med school I wanted to be a brain doctor. So..." Sören nodded some more. "Family tragedy put us both on our respective paths."  
  
"Kindred spirits, in a sense." Anthony flagged the waiter. "Check, please."  
  
"I'm sorry again for -"  
  
Anthony gave him a look. "Sören, stop. You're fine," he said softly, and there was that hand on his again, this time rubbing, patting.  
  
Sören swallowed hard.  
  
Anthony finished his meal, and his water, and the check came. He looked at it and produced his wallet.  
  
"Are you quite sure you don't want me to pay my half?" Sören asked.  
  
Anthony nodded. "I told you, I'm old-fashioned in that regard." After selecting a card and pushing the check with the card off to the side of the table, he leaned closer to Sören. "The night is still young."  
  
"It is."  
  
"Would you like to come back to my place and watch something, maybe?"  
  
_"Something."_ Sören fought back a giggle as his mind went in the gutter. Then he said, "OK."  
  
"How did you get here?"  
  
"I walked. It wasn't too far, I needed the air."  
  
"All right. I'll drive you over, if you're OK with that."  
  
Sören decided he could risk getting in a car with this guy. He nodded. "Let's do that, then."  
  
Anthony Hewlett-Johnson drove a charcoal grey Audi A7. Sören knew he'd drive something flashy, though classic and elegant. Sören got in the passenger seat, feeling shy and a little giddy.  
  
Before Anthony started the car, he took Sören's hand for a moment, giving him a pointed look. Anthony squeezed his hand, a simple, reassuring gesture that sent another flood of heat through Sören's body, a shiver down his spine, a little twinge from his cock. And then Anthony brought Sören's hand to his lips and kissed it.  
  
It was raining now, and the rhythm of the windshield wipers cut through Sören's anxiety a little. Anthony had his car stereo on, jazz playing softly - Coltrane if Sören had to take a guess.  
  
"Where do you live?" Sören asked, realizing he'd gotten in a car with a near-stranger without even asking that.  
  
"Kingston upon Thames."  
  
Sören didn't know what he was expecting for where the man lived. Sören just nodded, and watched the rain fall, every now and again glancing over his shoulder at the handsome man sitting next to him, driving, also watching the rain... also every now and again glancing over his shoulder.  
  
_Well, here we go._


	3. Together

Anthony Hewlett-Johnson lived in a spacious second-floor flat, riverfront. It was open plan kitchen and living room, with a large window giving a gorgeous view of the Thames. Sören was impressed just by the view itself, and then he got a better look at the first part of the flat when he got in. Anthony favored a muted grey, brown and blue color scheme that reminded Sören of the seaside, and was restful to the eye. The glass countertop in the kitchen matched the glass tabletop in the living room. There was some framed art on his walls - Sören approved of the Impressionist pieces he recognized, particularly Monet. A handsome bookshelf with a decent collection of hardbound books, a vinyl record collection and record player, a desk closer to the window. The appliances were all modern, but Anthony had a few vintage lamps, turning one on to produce a soft golden light as they walked in. His flat was tidy but also looked lived-in, which was a good sign to Sören.  
  
"Please, sit down. Can I get you anything?" Anthony gave him a pointed look.  
  
Sören was tempted to tell him to whip it out, but he behaved himself for now. "Whatever you're having is fine."  
  
"All right."  
  
Anthony came back with mineral water for each of them, and a bottle of Hennessy and two shot glasses. Sören felt a bit apprehensive - the last time he'd accepted a drink from a near-stranger, he'd woken up the next day in an alley used to the point of bleeding, cum seeping out of him, unable to remember what had happened, and he hadn't been able to press charges because he didn't even know the assailant's name or if the man who'd given him a drink had even been the only one who'd had him. Sören had gone out clubbing to cope with the grief of his sister's murder, which made this a one-two punch. Living in fear that he'd run into his assailant again had driven Sören to leave Iceland.  
  
But the drink had been given to him in a club, he hadn't seen it poured. Anthony was pouring two shot glasses right in front of him, straight from the bottle. So Sören took the glass, and meeting Anthony's eyes, they did the shot together. Sören winced a little at the bite and burn of the drink.  
  
Anthony laughed softly when Sören was done. "Cognac isn't your favorite, is it."  
  
"No. Not a big fan of cognac or whisky. Brennivín, on the other hand, I can drink pretty much anyone under the table. Not that I drink much, or often, my guardians put me off to that. But once in awhile."  
  
Anthony nodded. "I'm only an occasional drinker. Now and again." He turned on the television, and Sören looked at the large flat-screen TV. They looked at the guide together, and decided on a Bond movie. Sören was only half caring about it, his mind whirling with anticipation.  
  
They started off just sitting side by side, Anthony's hand on his, gently stroking. After awhile Anthony draped an arm around him and Sören moved closer. Some time after that Sören leaned on his shoulder. When Anthony began petting Sören's curls, rubbing his scalp, Sören melted into his touch and stopped paying attention to the movie altogether. Sören found himself resting his head on Anthony's chest and now Anthony was rubbing his back, not just his head. It had been _so long_ since Sören had been touched, and Sören couldn't remember being touched this sensually, tenderly, as if Anthony sensed how nervous he was and was soothing that tension away. There was so much relief flooding him just from being held, being pet, that it brought tears to Sören's eyes, tears that Sören fought back, not wanting to cry on the first date, especially not in front of the calm, cool professional. When Anthony's lips kissed the top of Sören's head Sören felt that urge to cry again, not used to what he was being given, needing it so much it _hurt_.  
  
A few minutes later, Anthony said softly, "Sören, I have a question for you."  
  
"Mmm?"  
  
"Are you a top or a bottom?"  
  
That was very forward, and yet they both knew as soon as they left the restaurant together where this was going. The movie was pretty much just a formality, a way to ease into what was about to happen. Sören still felt heat flush his cheeks. He picked his head up off Anthony's chest - Anthony was giving him a look that could drill through granite - and Sören felt himself grinning like an idiot as he just nodded. "Yes?" Sören said, giggling.  
  
Anthony also nodded then, turning a little pink. "I see."  
  
Sören felt like he was about to jump out of his skin with raw sexual need. Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. "So, ah... when do we fuck?"  
  
Anthony took Sören's chin in his hand, thumb stroking the beard, and the fullness of Sören's lower lip. Sören's cock was straining now, every movement sending electricity through him. "We're not going to fuck," Anthony said.  
  
Sören's face fell, disappointment hitting him like a popped balloon.  
  
But there was a wicked gleam in Anthony's eye now. "We're going to make love." With that, he pulled Sören's face to his, and their lips met for the first time.  
  
Sören didn't like the taste of Hennessy, but he loved tasting it on Anthony, moaning into the kiss as their lips parted and their tongues met, slowly playing together, flirting, teasing. Then Anthony took control of Sören's mouth like he owned him, the kiss going from playful to passionate, hard and demanding. Sören let out a whimper, his cock throbbing, every nerve in his body screaming for release. Just one kiss was enough to make him crazy, panting with need like an animal in heat. He needed more. So much more.  
  
Anthony got up, and Sören followed him. There was a short, narrow hall where they passed a closet, a bathroom done in cream and gold and silver, and then at last the bedroom. Anthony had a large king-sized four-poster bed done in dark wood, matching furniture. The bedcovers were grey and blue, the duvet pulled down to show silk sheets. Sören looked out the window - another large window with a magnificent view of the Thames - and then he saw Anthony step out of the bedroom, heard the sound of the shower starting in the bathroom. Anthony stepped back in and began undressing, and Sören took that cue to undress as well.  
  
Anthony was trim, fit without being too sculpted - the body of someone with a sedentary job who worked out sometimes but wasn't fanatical about it. Apart from the hair on his head, the rest of him was smooth and hairless, and Sören wondered if he was a swimmer on his time off, as he had the right build for it.  
  
Sören also had a hairless chest, but unlike Anthony, he had a fine growth of dark hair over his arms and legs, and a riot of dark curls like the ones on his head framing his now very hard cock.  
  
But Sören knew that what made Anthony's eyebrows go up with surprise wasn't that. The sleeve tattoos that Anthony had only seen glimpses of on Sören's wrists, went all the way from Sören's wrists to his shoulders - flames on one arm, ocean waves on the other - and they led out to a firebird and waterbird on his back, a piece Sören had designed from art he'd made during a very difficult time in his life, when he almost didn't finish med school due to worsening depression and anxiety. Sören also had his nipples pierced with captive bead rings, and the pièce de résistance was a Prince Albert piercing in the head of his cock, a titanium captive bead ring. If they had met through a dating app, Sören would have made a note of having some "hardware", which would be enough for people turned off by such things to give him a wide berth and those who didn't mind or perhaps had a fetish for it to pursue. But they hadn't met via an app, and Sören's clothes covered up his piercings until they didn't. Sören knew there was a risk that the clean-cut lawyer could see the ink and piercings and be put off by them... but Anthony was a little open-mouthed, breathing harder, and Sören saw Anthony's already hard cock go up some more, a bead of precum forming.  
  
"You like?" Sören asked.  
  
Anthony nodded, looking like he couldn't even make words, and the story that he'd freaked out a bit with asking Sören on a date now suddenly was quite a bit more believable.  
  
Sören smiled, feeling bolder. He strode towards Anthony, grabbed him, and drew him into a kiss. Another deep, passionate kiss, hungry.  
  
Anthony roughly seized Sören by the arm and dragged him along to the bathroom. Anthony got in the shower and pulled Sören in with him. Now Anthony took the initiative again, hot, fierce kisses as they held each other under the spray.  
  
The petting on the couch was nothing compared to the feel of Anthony lathering him, hands that were soft and elegant yet decidedly male touching him everywhere, exploring, caressing. Sören lathered him as well, enjoying the way his hands fit to Anthony's body, the shape of him, the way Anthony broke out in gooseflesh at Sören's touch and quivered.  
  
They played with each other's cocks, and when it was time for more kissing their hard cocks bumped up together. They were roughly the same length and girth, which Sören found aesthetically pleasing and arousing. They were both uncut, which was Sören's preference, and when Sören's fingers brushed over Anthony's cock he made sure to give the foreskin a little love, which made Anthony produce deep groans into deeper kisses.  
  
Anthony's finger hooked through the ring in Sören's cock, like it belonged to him. Sören's cock throbbed at that and he kissed Anthony back harder. The fingers of Anthony's free hand brushed a nipple, played with the nipple ring, and Anthony made a murmur of pleasure to discover that Sören was in fact very sensitive there. He finally found his words. "You are breathtaking," he said.  
  
Sören had been called many things, but "breathtaking" was not one of them, prior to now. Sören gave him a shy smile, feeling that flutter in his stomach, a warm glow of pride. "_Takk_," Sören husked. He ran his hands over Anthony's chest, smile broadening as he felt Anthony shiver again. "You're pretty nice yourself."  
  
Anthony took Sören's chin in his hand once more, thumb tracing along the beard and Sören's lip. Their eyes were locked. Sören was all gooseflesh now, aching like he'd never ached for someone before. Part of him wanted to get down on his knees and suck Anthony off right then. Sören found himself sucking on Anthony's thumb, as if to hint at that want.  
  
Anthony's response was to take Sören's face in his hands and kiss him as hard as Sören had ever been kissed before, taking his breath away. Sören felt his back shoved up against the shower wall and Anthony pinned his arms up against the wall and seized his wrists tightly, Anthony's cock rubbing against his, rubbing and rubbing. A couple of minutes of being in Anthony's grip, kissed like this, cocks rubbing together, and Sören cried out into the kiss as his cock shot off, trembling with each pulse of orgasm.  
  
"Oh god," Sören said when the kiss broke. He had been so pent up without sex for so long that he realized he shouldn't have been surprised that he'd go off like this, but he was just the same. "I'm sorry. I -"  
  
"Don't apologize." Anthony gave him a smug little look that was also somehow sexy as hell, like he was delighted at something he'd won. "You'll last longer now."  
  
Before Anthony could clean up the seed that Sören had spilled, Sören collected some of it on his fingers and shoved his fingers in Anthony's mouth. Anthony sucked Sören's fingers with that same smug look of ownership, and a frisson went down Sören's spine, cock hardening up again.  
  
They kissed on the way from the shower to the bed. The crisp silk sheets after the shower felt good. Sören noticed as he climbed in that Anthony was prepared, a bowl of condoms and lubricant near his alarm clock.  
  
For a moment they just looked at each other, Sören propped on one elbow, his free hand wandering over Anthony as Anthony's fingers walked over him. Sören realized that he'd been asked whether he was a top or bottom - and the answer was of course that Sören was both, he was versatile, and that had seemed to end that discussion though it wasn't really ended, Sören was curious as to Anthony's own preference. Before he could ask, Anthony said, "You should know that I normally don't do penetration on the first date, or not even the second, if there's more than once."  
  
"Oh." Sören wondered what was up with the condoms and lube, then.  
  
"But..." Anthony pulled Sören towards him. "I'm going to break my rule, this evening."  
  
Time for the question. "And you are..."  
  
"Mostly a bottom." Anthony nodded, as if most found that information surprising. "I can top, and do sometimes, but only sometimes."  
  
"OK," Sören said.  
  
"And..." Anthony pulled Sören closer. His voice was husky as he said, "I _really_ want you inside me."  
  
Sören's cock leapt at that. "I'd be happy to oblige," Sören husked back, and leaned in for a kiss.  
  
It was less demanding and possessive than before. Inviting, sweet and warm. This time Anthony moaned into the kiss too, and Sören shivered at the sound of it. He wanted to make Anthony moan like that again. And again. He wanted this confident, suave lawyer to be a sobbing fucking wreck when he was through with him. He also wanted to come again. Sören felt like he was going out of his mind with lust, every little touch and sound and nuance threatening to make him go off like a rocket again.  
  
The kiss deepened, heated. Sören felt their cocks press together once more, and then Anthony took them both into his hand, stroking. Sören's breath hitched, and again when Anthony started kissing his neck, his shoulder. When Anthony kissed the sweet spot where Sören's neck and shoulder met Sören shuddered and let out an "_ohgod_."  
  
Anthony grinned, and the thumb of his free hand played with one of Sören's nipples as he resumed kissing Sören's shoulder and neck. Sören's neck was supremely erogenous, and the combination of neck kisses and having his nipples teased made Sören make inhuman noises, which Anthony seemed to revel in, giving deep groans of his own every now and again.  
  
Then Anthony stroked his face, brought him into another sweet, playful kiss. Anthony's fingers went from playing with Sören's nipple rings to playing with the ring in the head of Sören's cock, thumb brushing the sensitive head.  
  
Through the haze of his desire, Sören realized he'd told Anthony the bare bones of his dating history and knew nothing about Anthony's. They could get in-depth another time, but for now Sören needed to ask, since this made a difference in how he'd handle topping Anthony. "How long has it been for you?"  
  
"You mean since the last time I had sex, or the last time I've been tested?"  
  
"Both, I suppose."  
  
"Three weeks for sex but just oral, a little over three months ago if you're counting penetration. As far as being tested, the last time for me was five months ago." Anthony looked up at Sören. "As much as I'm keen on feeling that piercing without a barrier, the condoms are non-negotiable until we both get tested and I do that once every six months. So before Christmas."  
  
That satisfied Sören not just because he approved that Anthony was being smart about his health - though he found it amusing that even between the sheets Anthony was a lawyer, using the word _non-negotiable_ \- but also because he was reading into Anthony's words that even as they had barely started their first time, there would be more. There was a chemistry between them Sören couldn't deny. He wanted to see where this went. He was ready to test his wings, after having been cautious and guarded for so long.  
  
"You should still be able to feel the PA somewhat through a condom," Sören said. "I speak from experience."  
  
"Good," Anthony said, and kissed him.  
  
"Am I your first Prince Albert?"  
  
"Yes. First time seeing one in person, first time... doing more than seeing one." Anthony was playing with the ring again. "I knew I found you intriguing, but this is even more interesting than I'd hoped for." He smiled.  
  
Sören kissed him. Now it was Sören's turn to kiss Anthony's neck and shoulder, grinning at Anthony's soft moans and sighs. Sören gently pushed the barrister onto his back and began working him over, lapping one nipple as his thumb rolled the other, suckling one as he pinched the other. He was pleased that Anthony was sensitive there too, and after a few rounds at his nipples Sören kissed his way down Anthony's torso, kissing and licking and nibbling the taut stomach. When Sören's kisses reached Anthony's thighs, Anthony spread his legs and Sören heard the catch in his breath, knowing he was waiting for something.  
  
Sören didn't disappoint, starting with taking Anthony's cock into his mouth. Anthony smiled as he watched Sören's lips wrap around his cock, Sören bobbing up and down, sucking slowly. The little sighs and gasps of pleasure became deeper moans as Sören sucked harder, faster. Sören played with Anthony's balls as he sucked, not just as an additional form of stimulation but also to gauge the arousal, and when he felt Anthony's balls tightening, he stopped sucking and lowered his head to trace his tongue around the opening in slow circles. Anthony's breath caught, and Anthony let out a full-fledged cry as Sören's tongue slipped inside.  
  
Anthony was fresh from the shower and tasted clean. Sören's tongue found the prostate right away and lashed at it, taking Anthony's hands and squeezing as Anthony bucked against him, getting more vocal. Sören smiled as he lapped, gratified by watching that composure finally break. Sören spent awhile down there, taking his sweet time - as much as he needed to come again, he also loved doing this, pleasing, teasing.  
  
Finally Anthony rasped, "Sören, please."  
  
"Mmmmm." Sören gave a few teasing licks around the rim of Anthony's passage again before dipping his tongue back inside, licking more slowly than before. Anthony made a guttural noise that made Sören's cock twitch, and Sören reached down to stroke himself lazily.  
  
After a few minutes of slow, deliberate licking, Sören felt Anthony's fists grabbing his curls and Anthony ground out, "Sören, _now._" There was a commanding, take-no-bullshit look on his face, one that Sören imagined probably saw plenty of use in the courtroom.  
  
Sören somewhat reluctantly stopped rimming - only somewhat reluctantly because he did like to see Anthony take charge. Anthony reached for a condom and Sören grinned as Anthony's teeth ripped the packet open. _No chill._ Sören loved it.  
  
Anthony rolled the condom onto Sören's cock, and Sören added a coat of lubricant. Sören reached out to stroke Anthony's face before guiding his cock to Anthony's passage. "I know it's been awhile for you so tell me to stop if you -"  
  
"_Put it fucking in me._"  
  
Sören's cock leapt at that. Sören did as he was told - albeit slowly, not wanting to hurt Anthony, who was tight. Anthony took deep breaths as Sören went in, seasoned enough to know to push out as Sören pushed in, and ride out any first pain at being stretched. When Sören was all the way in he leaned in to steal a kiss, resting inside him.  
  
Then Sören started to thrust. Three thrusts in, Anthony made a noise, his eyes rolling and glazing over. Sören knew he didn't just find that spot, but his PA did. "Jæja?"  
  
"Oh. _God._" Anthony made another guttural noise, nails digging into Sören.  
  
Sören went just a little harder and faster, kissing Anthony's neck. He kept his pace in check for now, still mindful of Anthony's tightness - deliciously tight. Then Anthony's embrace was tight, Anthony kissing him hungrily. It was harder for Sören to keep from banging away, and harder still at the look on Anthony's face between kisses. Again, that guttural sound as Sören's PA worked its magic inside him.  
  
The kisses got more intense, Anthony's arms had Sören in a death grip, and they were both breathing hard, starting to work up a fine sheen of sweat. Sören's breathy moans and Anthony's deeper groans filled the room, Sören losing himself in the pleasure of rocking in and out, the sweet tight rubbing around his cock, the look of lust on Anthony's face as Sören got him closer to the edge.  
  
At last Anthony kissed Sören's neck and rasped, "Harder."  
  
"You sure? You're so tight -"  
  
"_I said._" Anthony glared. "Harder."  
  
Sören did as he was told, his lust fueled by the command. Anthony groaned and growled, rolling his hips back at Sören. "Oh god," he panted, hands grabbing onto Sören's hips for dear life. "Oh god, like that."  
  
Sören kissed him, and they both cried out as Sören's balls started smacking against Anthony's ass. A few minutes of that and Sören grabbed one of Anthony's legs and hooked it around him, going even harder.  
  
"Oh _fuck._ Oh god, Sören, oh _shit_." Anthony was trembling, his cock dripping precum, and he gave Sören a desperate look before another shudder went through him and he gave a wordless cry.  
  
"That's it, _elskan_." The Icelandic endearment just slipped out. Sören reached down for Anthony's cock, stroking it in rhythm with his thrusts. "Almost there..."  
  
"Oh god. Oh god Sören... oh god. Oh my fucking _god._" Anthony was panting harder - Sören could see now what he meant by hyperventilating. Just the sound of that alone was about to bring Sören off, never mind the deliciousness of those moans, their flesh slapping together, the grip on his cock.  
  
"Yes, _elskan._ Let go for me. Show me how much you need to lose control like this."  
  
Anthony's nails raked him. "Sören. _Sören._ Sören. Almost there... almost there..."  
  
"Yes. _Yes._" Sören's free hand played over Anthony's chest, started rubbing a nipple.  
  
A moment that felt like an eternity of Sören's savage, wild thrusts and Anthony's feral moans, and then Anthony looked into Sören's eyes and cried out, "_Sören,_" and that was it, his cock blasting an arc of cream over Sören's chest. The feeling of hot cum on his nipples and Anthony's channel contracting around him and Sören's own orgasm hit, throwing back his head and crying out as his body gave in. Sören felt another set of contractions around him, heard Anthony moan as he sprayed Sören's chest and stomach again.  
  
Sören stopped thrusting, too sensitive now, and rested on top of Anthony, letting the both of them catch their breath before a kiss.  
  
"Good?" Sören asked.  
  
"Oh god, Sören." Anthony laughed and nodded, looking a bit dazed. "That was amazing."  
  
"Good." Sören kissed him again.  
  
They rested for a few minutes, racing heartbeats slowing, the euphoric bliss of orgasm easing into peaceful coziness, listening to the rain fall. Then Anthony kissed Sören's shoulder and husked, "I want to go again."  
  
Sören laughed. "All right."  
  
Sören pulled out, peeled off the used condom, and Anthony put another one on Sören's cock. Sören lubed up again and eased his way inside. Sören kept it slow, not wanting to hurt him, and then Anthony growled, "Take me hard, Sören. Show me what you've got."  
  
Sören obliged, putting Anthony's legs on his shoulders, and plowed. Anthony got even more vocal this time, and Sören loved it, loved it, giving himself over wholly to primal instinct, balls slapping wildly, answering Anthony's moans with deep animal noises of his own. Both of them having come - Sören having come twice now - stretched out the time, and Sören worried a little that Anthony would be sore and hurt the next day from the long, hard pounding, but Anthony had no complaints in the meantime, only urging Sören on with wild cries.  
  
Anthony got more breathless as he got closer, and when he climaxed he couldn't even cry out, only gave a shuddery gasp that was so luscious to Sören that it made Sören come too, holding back his own shout of release until the sound stopped.  
  
They laughed together, rocking each other through the ebb of their orgasm. "Wow." Anthony's smile was that of sheer joy. "Holy _shit._"  
  
"We're good together," Sören said.  
  
"We are." Anthony gave him a little kiss, and their noses rubbed together before they kissed again more deeply, smouldering embers left over from the fire.  
  
At some point, Sören ended up pulling out, dispensing with the second condom, and snuggling into Anthony's waiting arms. And then he drifted off. In the middle of the night he woke to realize he was in someone else's bed, and he'd actually been sleeping. Usually Sören didn't actually _sleep_ with the people he slept with, taking off soon after the sex was over, or at best, laying there restless, feeling too hypervigilant in a strange bed or with someone strange in his bed to actually sleep. It was a new, weird feeling, this business of letting down his guard enough to be able to go to sleep with another human being. Sören liked it, smiling to himself as he cuddled up to Anthony and went back to sleep.  
  
Anthony's alarm woke them in the morning. Sören gave the clock a foul look. "I set the alarm for the same time every day whether I work or not," Anthony said, voice throaty from sleep. "That way my body clock doesn't get too disrupted."  
  
Sören snorted. "What is this body clock of which you speak."  
  
"Oh yes." Anthony rubbed his back. "I imagine you have rather an erratic schedule."  
  
"My schedule is so erratic it can't even be called a schedule."  
  
"Well..." Anthony looked into Sören's eyes. "How did you sleep last night?"  
  
"Good," Sören admitted. "The best I've slept in awhile. Getting laid did me a world of good." He kissed the tip of Anthony's nose without thinking about it. "You?"  
  
"Very good." Anthony's arms wrapped around him. "It was nice, holding you."  
  
"Jæja, it was nice... being held."  
  
They gave each other one of those long, meaningful looks, and then Anthony was stroking Sören's curls and his face. "It's nice waking up to you too."  
  
Sören took Anthony's hand and kissed it, and then kissed Anthony's mouth. They were both hard again.  
  
After being pounded last night, Anthony wasn't up to get penetrated again this morning, but that was hardly the only thing they could do with each other. They settled into a hungry sixty-nine, sucking and rimming each other, devouring at first, then slowing down to tease and savor, not wanting this time to be over just yet. Anthony was sucking him so sweetly that Sören felt the urge to cry again, and as if he could tell how Sören was feeling, Anthony took Sören's hand and squeezed. That simple, caring touch made Sören go to town, tongue fucking inside Anthony until he was making inhuman noises with his mouth full of Sören's cock. When Sören took Anthony's cock back in his mouth it wasn't long before Anthony flooded it, and the light, clean salty-sweet taste of him brought Sören over the edge, Anthony murmuring appreciatively as he tasted Sören as well. Sören swallowed down the cream and licked up what was still dripping, and when the two rose up and kissed, Sören thought that the flavor of them together was one of the best things he'd ever tasted.  
  
Their legs braided together and Sören rested his head in Anthony's chest, relishing the way Anthony pet him.  
  
"I'm keeping you," Anthony said.  
  
Sören couldn't resist, looking up at him with a grin. "Hi Keeping You, I'm Sören -"  
  
Anthony slapped Sören's ass. "Brat."  
  
Sören gave him a little kiss. Then Sören breathed, still stunned, "So does this mean..."  
  
"I'd like to be your boyfriend, Sören, yes." Anthony stroked Sören's face. "We're still getting to know each other, but... I want to keep seeing where this goes. I like what I've seen so far, very much."  
  
"Me too." Sören kissed him again. "We can do this."  
  
"It's too bad you have to work tonight."  
  
"Jæja, welcome to my world. Relationships are work, and we're going to have our work cut out for us with our respective schedules."  
  
Anthony nodded. "I'd still like to try."  
  
"I'd like that too." Now Sören was stroking Anthony's face.  
  
"What are your hours like this week?"  
  
"Busy. I have Wednesday evening off but I'm working so much between tonight and Wednesday that I will absolutely need to crash. But like I said, I have my birthday off, that's this Friday. I have that entire weekend off."  
  
"I'd like to do something for your birthday."  
  
"Yes, please." Sören pet Anthony some more.  
  
"And maybe I can drop by the hospital and we can do breakfast or lunch between now and your birthday?"  
  
"OK. And we'll figure stuff out for next week. I should be able to squeeze you in for a sleepover or two." Sören couldn't resist again. "Or more like me squeezing in, heyyy."  
  
Anthony laughed. "You're incorrigible." He kissed Sören's forehead. "I like it."  
  
"You know what else I am?" Sören nibbled Anthony's neck. "I'm insatiable."  
  
Anthony grinned. "Hi Insatiable, I'm Anthony -"  
  
"Oh, fuck you."  
  
Anthony laughed as he rolled Sören onto his back, kissing his way down.


	4. Bloom

Sören was pulling a particularly long shift from Sunday evening through most of Monday, and after a brain tumor excision he was feeling pretty brain drained himself, chugging coffee to get through the remaining hours. Then he heard himself being paged to the front desk, something he wasn't expecting, hoping that it wasn't the family of one of his patients, asking questions.  
  
There was a young man dressed in a bland, nondescript outfit, polo shirt and khakis, except his polo shirt had a logo from a florist on it. He was carrying a clipboard and held it out to Sören. "Mr. Sigurðsson? Please sign."  
  
"What am I signing for?" Sören was confused.  
  
Then he saw it - a dozen red roses with baby's breath. Sören's heart started racing as he signed. He picked up the bouquet and walked it to the break room, where he'd be putting a note out that they were his, to take home when his shift was done. In the meantime, there was a small card attached to the bouquet - _Starry Night_ by Van Gogh on the outside, which happened to be Sören's favorite painting of all time, one that Sören had a framed print of in his living room. Either someone had done their research, or they _really_ got lucky with their choice of card. Sören opened the card, heavy stock with a light blue inside. A careful, elegant hand wrote:  
  
_He walks in beauty, like the night  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
And all that’s best of dark and bright  
Meet in his aspect and his eyes.  
  
  
That was a lovely first date, I can't wait to see you again.  
-A_  
  
Sören actually _squeaked_ out loud. His colleagues Pamela and Colin were in the break room; Colin gave him a look of amusement, perfect white teeth lighting up his chocolate face.  
  
"Someone gave you flowers?"  
  
Sören nodded, biting his lower lip. His face was on fire and his heart was turning cartwheels.  
  
"Either someone _really_ appreciates a procedure or you've got yourself an admirer," Pamela said with a toss of her red hair, "and I'm guessing from that look on your face it's the latter."  
  
"Jæja, I think so." Sören's face burned even harder, and he could feel himself grinning like an idiot.  
  
"Oooh, do dish, who's the lucky bloke?" Pamela raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Lawyer," Sören said. "Tall, dark, handsome." _Hung._ "Very charming. We, ah, went out on Saturday. It was nice."  
  
"Seems a bit better than nice from the look on your face," Pamela said.  
  
"Yeah," Colin said. "Quite a bit."  
  
"Our sweet little Sören has a boyfriend," Pamela said.  
  
Sören made a "meep" noise like Beaker of the Muppets, and Pamela and Colin laughed like this was the funniest thing ever.  
  
And even more than the caffeine, the roses and the card got him through the remainder of his shift, feeling like he was walking on air. Sören held the bouquet on the Tube ride home, nose buried in the flowers - usually commercial roses didn't have much of a fragrance but the perfume of this bouquet was downright heady, between that and the vibrant color and health of the roses it was clear Anthony had been careful about what to send Sören.  
  
Once Sören was in his flat in Bromley and showered and changed into pajamas, before he curled up with his sketchbook, he dialed Anthony's number on his cell. It went to voice mail. Sören heard his deep, smooth velvet voice announce, "Hello, you've reached Anthony Hewlett-Johnson. I'm not available right now, please leave your name, a brief message and a callback number and I will return your call at my earliest convenience. Thank you." _Beep._  
  
Sören was so flustered just hearing that voice, his stomach doing cartwheels again, that he let out a "meep" into the phone, followed by a dying whale noise that the "meep" had actually come out of him, followed by an "_ó, skítur_" that he'd now made two ridiculous noises, before he hung up, smacking himself in the forehead repeatedly, screaming wordlessly with frustration at himself.  
  
_Smooth, now you sound like the biggest dumbarse who ever lived._  
  
Sören still hit the number again, waited through the voice mail message a second time, which gave him the flutters even more, and then Sören took a deep breath and at the beep he blurted out, "Hi, Anthony, this is Sören. I just wanted to call and say thank you for the flowers. That was really thoughtful and it made my day. I also really enjoyed the weekend and want to see you again. So. Ah. _Takk._ PS, that was me being an arse just now, please disregard that message, I got all... stupid and gooey. Ah. Bye." Then Sören ended the call.  
  
He was hungry and with his hours he rarely cooked, maybe a big meal once a week to have leftovers for a couple meals at best. Tonight was one of those nights where he was going to have to get takeaway again. He dialed the Indian place and as he waited, he began to sketch. While he loved Impressionist art, his own art was strongly influenced by the Pre-Raphaelites, though on the occasions he painted it was a bit more photorealistic as well as a touch of surrealism, a touch of magic in the mundane. He hadn't had any energy lately for painting, though, and yet as he kept looking at the card with his bouquet, it nagged him. He'd been thinking about painting the weekend of his birthday, but he knew he wasn't going to have time for that with whatever Anthony had planned. That was OK. In the meantime he'd just draw, his latest sketch being a garden.  
  
When he was a bit absorbed in his sketch, his cell went off, and he wondered if it was the delivery driver - usually they just came right up. It was also still a bit soon for them to get here. Then he saw Anthony's number. He answered right away. "Jæja?"  
  
"Hi." Anthony's voice was warm, cheerful. "I just got your message." A soft chuckle. "Messages."  
  
"Oh _god_, I'm sorry, I'm an idiot -"  
  
"You're adorable."  
  
Sören's face was on fire again. He felt himself grinning, biting his lower lip. "Awww, _takk._" Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. "Thank you so much for the roses. And the card, with the poem. That's Byron?"  
  
"Yes. I changed the gender for obvious reasons, but that is indeed Lord Byron."  
  
"You couldn't have known this, I don't think, but _Starry Night_ is my favorite painting."  
  
"I saw you looking at the prints I have framed in my flat. It seems my observation you like that school of art was correct."  
  
"Wow." Sören didn't know whether to be impressed or terrified that Anthony had been noticing Sören looking around his flat and taking mental notes on his reactions. "Well, I do. It was a nice touch."  
  
"I'm glad you liked it. I was a little worried you'd find the traditional red roses a bit boring -"  
  
"Oh no! I love roses."  
  
"I decided to err on the side of caution rather than going for something more exotic like orchids, even though you're rare and interesting enough it seems that suits better."  
  
"Classic is always a good choice. My flat smells heavenly right now."  
  
"Sören... what are you doing right now?"  
  
"I am in my pajamas waiting for takeaway. I worked over 14 hours, I was up all night -"  
  
"Dear god. You poor thing."  
  
"So I am going to eat and then I am going to crash."  
  
"Well, shit."  
  
Anthony sounded so disappointed that Sören felt bad, as well as that small elated thrill that Anthony really wanted to see him. "I'm so sorry. If I wasn't, like, dead on my feet I'd tell you to come over, but -"  
  
"It's all right." A soft sigh. "When is your break tomorrow? Can I come see you?"  
  
"If you can get to the hospital around 1 PM, I should be available unless a surgery goes catastrophically wrong. No, that doesn't happen much."  
  
"Brilliant. 1 it is. Would you like me to bring anything?"  
  
"Yourself, and coffee if you don't mind."  
  
"I don't. How do you take yours?"  
  
"Light cream, three sugars." Sören couldn't resist. "I like my coffee like I like my men, dark and sweet."  
  
Anthony laughed. "I'll see you tomorrow, Sören. Rest well."  
  
"You too, when you get there."  
  
When the call was over Sören held the phone to his heart for a moment, giving a little wistful sigh. The sound of Anthony's voice, and thinking about him, made Sören feel a bit randy - unfortunately he really was too tired for sex and had to stick to his plan of eating, sketching till he had digested enough to go lay down and sleep without an issue. He really wished Anthony could come over tonight, if only just to hold him. But the way he was feeling, he wouldn't want it to be just cuddles. The thought of the passion they'd shared on Saturday night and Sunday morning made Sören crave more.  
  
So much more. He could get addicted to their sex pretty easily.  
  
_I could fall in love with him pretty easily, too._ Sören sighed again, and wondered if he wasn't already most of the way there.  
  
  
_  
  
  
One PM on Tuesday couldn't come fast enough. Anthony was waiting for Sören in the cafe for visitors, with coffee for each of them. As soon as Sören walked in, Anthony got up from the table to pull out a chair for Sören - charmingly old-fashioned - and Sören went right to him and gave him a hug and a little kiss.  
  
It felt so good to be in his arms again, to feel his warmth, to breathe his scent. On the other hand all of those things and the heat in Anthony's eyes made Sören's cock start to wake up, which was a bit awkward being in his scrubs.  
  
Sören also felt self-conscious about being in his scrubs when Anthony was so put-together, today wearing a dark navy pinstripe suit with a white shirt and blue tie. Sören realized that Anthony knew he was coming to the hospital and seeing him in scrubs was expected, but he still felt stupid just the same, in awe of this gorgeous, elegant man. Sören's face was on fire as he sat down, and it burned even more as Anthony pushed the cup of coffee across the table to him, putting his hands over Sören's and looking into his eyes before Sören could take the cup.  
  
"_Takk_," Sören said. He felt himself grinning like an idiot again, reluctantly pulling his hands away from Anthony's to start on his coffee. "How are you?"  
  
"Better, now that I can look at you."  
  
Sören's stomach was turning flip-flops, his heart soaring. "I. Ah. Like looking at you too." Then Sören gestured to his scrubs. "Jesus, I'm a wreck."  
  
"I did ask you out with you in your scrubs, Sören. You're cute."  
  
Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. He reached with his free hand to squeeze Anthony's hand as he sipped his coffee.  
  
"When does your shift end?" Anthony asked.  
  
"It doesn't," Sören joked, and then he shook his head and with a frown he said, "Late. Probably later than you ought to be staying up if you've got work tomorrow."  
  
Anthony frowned too.  
  
"I'm sorry." Sören hated seeing the sadness in his eyes. Then he sighed, wondering if this was fair. "Anthony, I'mma be real with you, I _really_, really like you, and I want to be with you, but I work at least sixty hours a week every week, usually closer to seventy-two. What free time I have, you can consider it yours, we'll find a way to make this work if you want it to work, but this is unfortunately what you're signing up for. I'll understand if you want to find someone with more compatible hours -"  
  
"They're not you." Their eyes held. "I know what I want, and what I want is you, and like you said... we'll make this work."  
  
A frisson went down Sören's spine. Anthony's words _I know what I want, and what I want is you _echoed in his head_._ And Sören wanted him, too, relieved at the reassurance. As soon as this was, with the two of them getting to know each other, it also felt right. Something clicked with them.  
  
"We're doing my birthday this weekend, já?"  
  
"We certainly are. When you say you have Friday off, you mean the entire day?"  
  
Sören nodded. "I'll be getting off late Thursday, but if you want to start the festivities early and don't mind driving out at 11 PM to pick me up -"  
  
"I don't."  
  
"We can go back to your place? I'd invite you to sleep over mine but, ah, yours is nicer."  
  
"We can stop at your place unless you can bring a bag to work, pack some things for the weekend. I'd like to take you on a little holiday for your birthday if that's OK with you."  
  
"Oh my god, I'd love that." Sören's face lit up. "Where?"  
  
"That's a surprise." Anthony smiled.  
  
"Well, I'm sure I'll love it. I haven't been, ah, anywhere, really, since I came here last year."  
  
"Did you want to go back to Iceland for your birthday?"  
  
Sören shook his head adamantly. He didn't want to get into why he didn't want to go back to Iceland this soon into the relationship - eventually, that might come out, but not now, and especially not here in a public place. "I do not, but thank you for asking."  
  
The look Anthony gave him suggested to Sören that he'd picked up on Sören's discomfort, but he knew not to press it now. Sören sipped his coffee, and now Anthony was the one to squeeze his hand, as if to say _it's OK_.  
  
"Also, for future reference..." Anthony raised an eyebrow. "What kind of flowers do you like, besides roses?"  
  
"Yes?" Sören laughed. "I love flowers. All different kinds of flowers. It's very hard to disappoint me." Despite Sören's discomfort with the idea of a return visit to his home country, he had to share this anyway. "I grew up in Akureyri, which isn't big at all, but it has a famous botanical garden, and I used to go there a lot when I needed to get out of the house, just to hang out and be at peace in the garden with all the pretty flowers. It was a good place to sketch, and a good place for me to learn how to sketch different kinds of flowers, trees -"  
  
Anthony's eyebrows shot up. "You draw?"  
  
"And paint." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls and shifted in his chair, immediately wishing he hadn't said anything, remembering the way his aunt and uncle ridiculed his art and ripped it up, threw it out. "I'm probably not any good, but I like it -"  
  
"Did you design your ink?"  
  
Sören nodded solemnly.  
  
"Then you're probably a lot better than you think you are. I'd like to see it, anyway, if you have a sketchbook or something you can bring this weekend."  
  
"If you insist." _Oh god, he's going to think it's stupid and dump me._  
  
"I do." Anthony's eyes locked with his again. "So... that's what you do in your spare time? Is art?"  
  
Sören nodded. "It's a bit of a passion of mine. I would have gone into art if I hadn't gone into medicine. But like I said, I probably suck at it..."  
  
"I doubt that."  
  
Sören quickly changed the subject. "What about you and your spare time?"  
  
"What is this spare time of which you speak."  
  
Sören laughed. "God, if that isn't a mood."  
  
"Yeah, you get it." Anthony sighed. "I do a lot of things -"  
  
"I bet."  
  
Anthony gave him a wicked grin, eyes gleaming. "Besides that, _you_." He started playing footsie with Sören under the table, sending another frisson down Sören's spine. "I read -"  
  
"Oh good. I mean, I kind of figured from the card you sent..."  
  
Anthony nodded. "I like going to concerts. I have music on a lot when I'm home, I collect vinyl. I play piano, though I'm no virtuoso. I usually go to the pub with my colleagues once a week or so."  
  
"If I show you my crappy art, you have to play piano for me sometime."  
  
"You're on."  
  
Anthony's footsie was getting more insistent. Sören's cock was wanting attention again, as his Doc Martens teased against Anthony's brogues.  
  
"Should be interesting to see where this goes," Sören said.  
  
"I can already tell I won't be bored, you'll be able to keep up with me intellectually. That's a big plus."  
  
"It's a big plus to me that you say that," Sören said. Then he snickered. "Though, you have a lot of faith in my intellectual abilities, with the noises I made into your voice mail."  
  
"It was precious." Anthony gave him a genuine smile. "Nobody's ever reacted like that to me before."  
  
"Really? I find that hard to believe. Even now, I feel like I can barely string two words together."  
  
"I feel the same way. I'm good at hiding it. Have to be, in my line of work."  
  
Their eyes met again. "Really?" Sören facepalmed. "Wow, I say 'really' a lot."  
  
"Really?"  
  
Sören kicked him under the table. Anthony grinned into his coffee, and then his brogue slid up Sören's calf. Sören's cock was twinging again and Sören shifted in his seat.  
  
"Can you do breakfast tomorrow?" Anthony asked.  
  
Sören nodded. "Meet me here 6 AM?"  
  
"OK."  
  
_I'd rather eat you._ Sören didn't say that aloud. "I'm sorry that I won't be able to do tomorrow night, but at least we've got that, and you picking me up Thursday night for my birthday..."  
  
Anthony nodded. "We'll make that work."  
  
"I really - oh god, there's that word again..."  
  
Anthony chuckled and gave Sören's hand another assuring squeeze, a pat... a scratch on the palm, as his feet played with Sören's under the table some more.  
  
"I really appreciate that you're willing to give this a chance, with our crazy hours," Sören said.  
  
"I don't meet someone like you every day."  
  
Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, face burning again.  
  
"I unfortunately can't stay too long, or I would have offered lunch." Anthony looked at the clock and cringed.  
  
"I appreciate that you came at all."  
  
They got up from the table and Anthony took Sören into his arms, and he said, "Actually, I have one last question for you."  
  
"Hm?"  
  
That wicked look in his eyes again as Anthony leaned in and husked, "I'd like to see your equipment again... to make sure it's fully functional."  
  
Somehow, they ended up in a supply closet, kissing feverishly as the door closed behind them. Sören moaned as Anthony yanked down Sören's scrub pants and boxer-briefs, his aching cock springing free. Sören moaned again as he watched Anthony get down on his knees and swallow his cock down to the root, sucking hard and fast, like he was starving for it. Sören grabbed Anthony's head and stifled a cry, not wanting to alert anyone passing in the hall what they were doing.  
  
It was a power trip, seeing this high-flying barrister down on his knees, hungrily sucking him off. And yet, at the same time, Sören felt like _he_ was the one being conquered - that there was nothing submissive in this gesture and Anthony was doing exactly what he wanted to do, taking what he thought was his. And Sören loved that feeling too. Sören began to gently thrust into his mouth, breathing harder. Anthony encouraged him along by humming "mmmmmm", and when he cupped Sören's balls and began to rub, Sören almost came from that, moaning again.  
  
Anthony slowed down a little, teasing him, teasing more when he pulled back to focus on the head and first few inches of the shaft, working the rest of it with his free hand.  
  
"God, I can't believe we're doing this," Sören rasped.  
  
Anthony pulled Sören's cock out of his mouth. "I've been going out of my mind wanting you," he husked before taking a few licks at Sören's cock, a worshipful look in his green eyes. His eyes still locked with Sören's as he took Sören's cock back into his mouth, and Sören felt his own eyes rolling, glazing over as he got closer.  
  
Sören bit his hand to stifle a cry when he climaxed, knees buckling, sliding a little down the wall as Anthony made a "mmmmmmm" drinking him down. He licked Sören's cock clean and came up to kiss him and Sören made a little content noise at the taste of himself on his lover's tongue. Anthony was rock hard and Sören fumbled with his belt, got his cock out, and started stroking it as they kissed. A moment later Anthony was done, moaning into the kiss as he trembled against Sören, shooting into Sören's hand. Sören reveled in knowing Anthony was so aroused sucking him off that it didn't take much. Sören brought his hand to his mouth and licked it clean as Anthony recovered, and Anthony groaned at the sight of Sören tasting him.  
  
"God, I wish we had more time." Anthony kissed him deeply.  
  
"Me too. But we will... this weekend."  
  
Anthony's arms wrapped around Sören again and they kissed again, sweetly, a promise of more to come.  
  
Sören walked him outside - peeking outside the supply closet first to make sure the coast was clear. On the way out the lobby Sören giggled like they were children caught being naughty. One last kiss, and Sören sighed sadly as he walked Anthony stride off, waving.  
  
_I already miss him. I've definitely got it bad._  
  
But he couldn't be too sad, with that awesome blowjob in the closet, the shit-eating grin returning to his face as he went back inside, feeling the spring in his step. _I've got it good, too._

That night, when he got home, he pressed a rose in a book and preserved some of the rose petals in a bowl from the bouquet Anthony had sent on Monday. He was sentimental like that.


	5. Chérir Le Jour

Sören being willing to meet Anthony for Wednesday breakfast was rather a sign that he was falling hard for this guy, as Sören was very much not a morning person. Early shifts were unavoidable as a junior surgeon with the NHS, but Sören didn't like it anyway, and usually preferred his mornings to be quiet, where he could be grumpy alone. But just being around Anthony was a balm for his soul - Anthony seemed to intuitively understand Sören wanted a quiet, mellow breakfast and that was what they did, watching the sunrise together, gently touching. It was nice. Sören reflected later that he minded mornings far less when Anthony was around.  
  
He was already becoming a fixture in Sören's life, and that scared him a little, but it felt right just the same.  
  
Sören still didn't know what Anthony's birthday surprise was for him, Anthony playing those cards close to his chest until Thursday night when Anthony picked Sören up at the hospital and drove to Sören's flat in Bromley so Sören could pick up the bag he'd packed for the weekend. Anthony elected to wait in the car while Sören ran up and got his bag - Sören was relieved, as he felt a little self-conscious about Anthony seeing the flat, compared to what Anthony's looked like - and before Sören got out of the car, Anthony said, "Make sure you have your passport."  
  
Sören gave him the side-eye, and again when he came downstairs with his bag and his passport in hand. "Anthony, _what_ did you do." He realized he couldn't be too surprised at this when Anthony had asked if Sören wanted to go to Iceland for his birthday and Sören had declined, that travel was still on his agenda somehow, but he was surprised nonetheless.  
  
"We're going to the airport."  
  
"Now?" Sören's jaw dropped. As tired as he was, there was a sudden jolt of energy.  
  
"Now. Stansted. It's a bit of a drive -" It was an hour from Bromley to Stansted Airport. Anthony gave Sören a small, apologetic frown. "But a reasonably short flight. We're taking an overnight."  
  
"To..."  
  
"Flying in directly to Charles de Gaulles in Paris."  
  
Anthony waited, and Sören's eyes widened. Sören let out a squeak, and then he threw his arms around Anthony's neck and began raining kisses over his face. "Oh my god. _Oh my god._ _Ó guð minn ó guð minn_..."  
  
Anthony laughed and gently pushed Sören off him. "I have to drive, sweetheart -"  
  
_Oh my god he called me sweetheart._ Sören screamed, flailing. Anthony laughed harder.  
  
"You're so cute," Anthony husked, leaning in to give Sören a little kiss before he got back on the road.  
  
"I... can't. Believe it." Sören laughed and cried at the same time. He shook his head at Anthony. Then he gestured to the clock on the dash. "But we're going at this hour? The flight couldn't wait until morning?"  
  
"We only have till Sunday night, so I wanted to make sure we get as much time in Paris as we can." At breakfast on Wednesday Anthony and Sören had touched base about Sören's schedule - Sören had also given him a copy of his new schedule for the next fortnight, starting next Monday. They had to go back on Sunday evening for Sören to start on Monday morning early. "And... after we get there and go to sleep in our hotel room, I wanted you to be able to wake up in Paris on your birthday."  
  
Sören gasped. That was incredibly romantic. Sören got teary again. Then he gave Anthony a playful little swat. "Anthony... this was a _lot_ of trouble and expense to go to. You must have spent a small fortune to get tickets on such short notice, never mind booking the room -"  
  
"The cost wasn't as bad as you might fear, but even if it was, you're worth it to me." Anthony took Sören's hand and kissed it, before putting both hands on the wheel again.  
  
"_Jesus._" Sören shook his head in disbelief, laughing and crying some more. "I'm in shock. Seriously." Sören glanced back at Anthony. "I've never been to Paris."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"I never left Iceland _at all_ until 2010. When I came here." Sören shrugged. "I come from nothing, I grew up dirt poor, couldn't afford to travel as a kid. Just going down to Reykjavik was a big deal. And all I've done since I've got here has been work, there's been no time to travel -"  
  
"I'd like to start changing that." Their eyes met. "I'd like to show you places I've been, places you might enjoy visiting as I did. I was fortunate enough to have a pocket of time, years ago, where I got to see most of western Europe."  
  
"Like Sweden." Sören smirked.  
  
"Like Sweden. But I've been... around."  
  
Sören snorted at that. Anthony realized the innuendo and rolled his eyes. "Not as much as you might think, _Sören,_ though I did my share of sowing my oats as a young man."  
  
"Same here, so I can't say anything. I was probably worse. I pretty much fucked half of Iceland."  
  
Anthony turned pink and his laughter rang out.  
  
"OK, maybe that's exaggerating it slightly." Sören chuckled. Then he said, "How did this conversation even turn into sex, anyway?"  
  
"Because it involves you, and apparently your mind lives there."  
  
"Uh huh. Something tells me you're just as bad."  
  
"Probably." Anthony gave him a wicked look. "At least if you're around. Difficult for me to think of much else."  
  
"I still can't believe you blew me at the hospital." Sören laughed. "God. A blowjob at the hospital... being whisked away to Paris... what is my life turning into."  
  
"A life," Anthony said. "All work and no play, and all of that. Not that I can talk, either, but this will be good for both of us."  
  
Sören leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, so much." Sören ruffled his hair. "I still can't believe it."  
  
"Believe it. I want to spoil you."  
  
Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, watching Anthony's cheeks flush in the glow of the lamp on the roof. Sören leaned back in his seat - Anthony hit a button so Sören's seat would recline a little - and Sören hugged himself, relaxing as Anthony zipped down the highway. The car stereo was playing softly and Sören recognized it.  
  
"Jamiroquai?"  
  
"They're my favorite band." Anthony looked a little self-conscious. "More popular when I was coming of age -"  
  
"Oh no, I like them too. My taste in music is all over the place."  
  
"I seem to favor jazz and R&B, though I like classical and indie rock too. It's not unusual for me to go from listening to something like Marvin Gaye to something like Radiohead next song."  
  
"Good, we'll get on. I like soul music a lot, though when I'm not listening to that it tends to be goth or industrial or prog metal. Sometimes classic rock too."  
  
"I kind of got that sense looking at you."  
  
Sören nodded. "I operate to stuff like Rush, Led Zeppelin, Tool. Or I do when Colin isn't picking the music, 'cos we take turns if we operate together. Then we work to shit like... Doctor Dre and Snoop Dogg. I'll never forget the time we had 'Keep Their Heads Ringing' during an awake surgery on some MP -"  
  
Anthony wheezed. "_Wow._"  
  
"That was an _experience_. Colin Traynor is my favorite to operate with, he's got a great sense of humor, good bedside manner, helps me calm nervous patients down."  
  
"Traynor? Does he have a sister, Diana?"  
  
"Yes. Colin talks about her sometimes."  
  
"His sister is my EA. You'll meet her, eventually."  
  
"Wow! It's a small world." Sören sighed. "And a big world. I still can't believe I'm going to bloody Paris for my birthday." He chuckled.  
  
Sören had only flown once in his life, the flight from Reykjavik to London in 2010, and the relief he'd felt at leaving behind the constant fear that he'd run into his rapist or one of his rapist's friends somewhere was the thing that stuck out at him about that trip. But now the other remembered feeling came back to him - the panic as the plane began to take off and he could feel the g forces accelerating. Sören heard himself go "meep" and wanted to crawl under his seat and die.  
  
"Shhhhh." Anthony took Sören's hand, stroking assuringly, and then he pulled Sören close to him and held him as much as the constraints of their seatbelts would allow. "Shhhhh, it's all right, darling."  
  
God, he loved being called little endearments like this. Sören snuggled into him, let himself be held by those strong, comforting arms.  
  
"Deep breaths." Anthony pet Sören's curls.  
  
Sören got through takeoff with deep breaths in Anthony's arms, and was a bit less anxious in-flight, dozing off on Anthony's shoulder. Then the landing kicked up Sören's anxiety again and Anthony held him through that, too. Sören gave another "meep" in the descent.  
  
"Sören, look." Anthony pointed out the window, which Sören was closer to.  
  
Sören's breath caught as he saw a bird's eye view of Paris lit up at night, recognizing the Eiffel Tower right away. "Oh my _god_." Now he was glad Anthony had gone for an overnight flight beyond wanting Sören to wake up in Paris on his birthday. There was still a touch of anxiety as the plane continued to drop, but mostly Sören was just in awe looking out the window at Paris at night.  
  
Sören's legs felt a little wobbly when he got off the plane - he was very, very tired after a long shift, and being kept up later than anticipated with the flight. But when he and Anthony got out of the airport and waited for the taxi that would bring them to the hotel, a giddy feeling of elation flooded him and Sören let out a whoop into the night air. He put his bag down for a moment, threw his arms around Anthony and kissed him hard.  
  
"I'm in Paris," Sören said. _God, that's dumb, of course we're in Paris._ He couldn't stop the words bubbling out of him again and again. "I'm in Paris. Oh my god, I'm in Paris. I'm in Paris..."  
  
Anthony grinned. He looked tired too - Sören stroked his face and felt a flutter, touched once again at the trouble he'd gone to, not just the expense of coordinating all of this on short notice but that he'd driven to Stansted late at night when he too had a long day, had gotten on a plane late at night to make this happen. Sören gave a wistful little sigh, feeling like he was the luckiest man in the world.  
  
When they got in the taxi, Anthony gave instructions in French, and Sören felt all tingly, even though he didn't understand a word of what was being said. If this trip was going to involve hearing Anthony speak a lot of French, Sören was going to want to spend a fair amount of it in bed. Sören cursed feeling too tired to do anything but just pass out once they got to the hotel, but at least Anthony looked about the same amount of tired.  
  
At the hotel Anthony again spoke French at the reception desk. Sören felt another frisson down his spine. Once they were given the key to the room and Anthony said his thanks in French they were off, heading towards the elevator.  
  
Sören took deep breaths in the elevator - he was a touch claustrophobic, and even working at National where he had to use an elevator every day hadn't quite broken him out of it. Anthony seemed to notice Sören was nervous, and Sören felt heat flood his face, self-conscious about being a scared little baby in elevators, especially one that wasn't even all that small. But Anthony's arm was around him and he whispered, "We'll be there soon."  
  
Sören started undressing out of his scrubs as soon as they got in the suite. It was a penthouse with a magnificent view of Paris - Sören's breath caught again with the Paris skyline lit up at night, the Eiffel Tower rising to greet him. His breath caught again when he walked into the bathroom to "scrub out", annoyed with himself for not doing that immediately in the hotel room, since he'd been on a plane filled with other people and their germs, and his annoyance was quickly replaced with awe at the sight of the jacuzzi in the room, black marble trimmed with gold.  
  
"My god."  
  
Anthony came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Sören's waist. "Hi."  
  
"Hi." Sören tilted his face and gave him a little kiss, and a nuzzle. "The hot tub. Wow."  
  
"You..." Anthony blinked. "You've never been in a hot tub, either?"  
  
Sören shook his head. "I've been in hot _springs_, those are all over Iceland, but that's outside, that's different. I've never had occasion to be in a hot tub. You really have spoiled me."  
  
Anthony gave Sören a kiss. "We better get some sleep."  
  
They climbed in the king-sized bed together, laying on their sides facing each other. Anthony reached for Sören and pulled him close, and Sören made a noise of contentment as he curled up. "Thassnice," Sören slurred.  
  
Anthony pet Sören's curls and kissed the top of his head. "You feel good." He rocked Sören a little. "So warm." He gave a soft chuckle. "You're like a living space heater."  
  
Sören laughed too. "I always run a bit hot, yeah. Summers are brutal for me, I wilt."  
  
Anthony kissed Sören's cheek and rocked him some more. "You feel so cozy." Their legs braided together.  
  
Sören sighed and snuggled deeper. He could absolutely get used to this, being held... not just anybody, but being held by Anthony, at night. Logically, he knew that going off somewhere like this with someone he'd only met last week was probably not the safest thing to do - he'd been erring on the side of caution and paranoia since waking up in an alley in Reykjavik one Sunday morning a little less than two years ago. But it felt incredibly _safe_, here and now, that feeling like he'd known Anthony forever even though they were still almost strangers. Something had sparked between them and built a lovely fire.  
  
"Oh, Sören, I have a question," Anthony mumbled, sounding half-asleep, yet whatever was on his mind prevented him from going under just yet.  
  
"Mm?"  
  
"What kind of cake and ice cream do you like?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Anthony laughed, throaty from sleepiness - Sören made a little noise, wishing they both weren't too tired for sex. "Is that going to be your answer every time I ask you a question about your preferences?"  
  
Sören laughed too. "Depends on what you're asking. I don't know, I just... like variety. I like men, I like women. I like sex. I like all different kinds of music. I like... all different kinds of cake and ice cream."  
  
Anthony laughed harder. "You realized you just described sex, drugs, and rock and roll, except... instead of drugs, it's cake." More laughter. "Sex, cake, and rock and roll."  
  
"That's my idea of living dangerously." Sören laughed too. "That's a walk on the wild side right there."  
  
"That's also a sign we should go the fuck to sleep, because this shouldn't be as funny as it is."  
  
_You dork._ Sören sighed. _That only makes me lo-_ Sören swallowed hard. _Like you more._  
  
Sören's heart raced for a minute. It was too soon to be saying he loved Anthony, and that terrified him. But there it was. And he didn't have to say or do anything with that feeling yet. Right now, he just needed to sleep. They both did. "Goodnight." They shared a little kiss. "And thank you."  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören woke up and Anthony was already up. It was only eight AM, Sören hadn't gotten that much sleep with them coming in late, but it was also late enough that Sören knew Anthony had been up for awhile if he was keeping his regular schedule. Sören was also somehow not surprised Anthony was on his laptop, in a bathrobe, frowning at his screen as he typed - duty called.  
  
Sören lay in bed for a moment looking out the panoramic window of the penthouse suite at the bright blue sky and the Paris skyline, letting it sink in. After only ever having been to England besides Iceland, he was indeed waking up on the morning of his twenty-seventh birthday in Paris.  
  
"Oh, good, I was about to wake you," Anthony said, coming over to give Sören a little kiss. "Room service is on its way."  
  
"Oh. _Takk._" Sören yawned, stretched, and returned the kiss.  
  
Sören got up to go to the bathroom and when he came back, room service had arrived. Sören's face lit up and he gave into a peal of giddy, hysterical laughter when he saw their breakfast was pieces of rich chocolate cake served with generous scoops of coffee ice cream and whipped cream.  
  
"Oh my _god_, we're having cake and ice cream for breakfast?" Sören gave a happy little squeak. He felt self-conscious about all these stupid noises he was making in front of a barrister, but Anthony just kissed the tip of his nose, smiling indulgently, which made Sören crinkle his nose and bite his lower lip in response.  
  
"We're adults," Anthony said.  
  
"I guess so."  
  
"Here." Anthony put some cake on a spoon and held the fork to Sören's lips. "Happy birthday."  
  
They took turns feeding each other spoonfuls of cake and ice cream, smiling at each other, touching, looking into each other's eyes. Sören was already starting to feel a little randy, and by the time the cake was halfway through, he was sucking sensuously on the spoon, pleased by the heat in Anthony's eyes as he watched, knowing exactly what was going through his lover's mind. A few bites later, and more teasing spoon-sucking, and Anthony gave Sören a mock stern look.  
  
"You are a naughty boy," he said.  
  
"Mhm." Sören sucked the spoon even more slowly and deliberately, and took a lick even though he'd sucked it mostly clean.  
  
"No more spoon for you." Anthony smirked, and pulled off some cake with his fingers, for Sören to eat out of his hand like a pet.  
  
He of course knew what he was getting into, because now Sören was sucking and licking his fingers as well, and when Sören fed Anthony from his fingers, Anthony teased him right back. They were both hard, and getting harder each moment, feeding each other the last bits of cake, sucking and licking each other's fingers more sensuously each time.  
  
There was orange juice and champagne cocktails to go with the cake and ice cream, and Sören "accidentally" spilled some on Anthony, which he cleaned with his tongue. Anthony groaned, and grabbed Sören by the hair and kissed him hard. The passion of the kiss alone made Sören feel like he was about to come, going crazy with raw sexual need.  
  
"That was lovely," Sören husked when they pulled back, breathing hard. He really was touched by the gesture - birthday cakes had been too few and far between in his life between the privations of childhood and then the intensity of his work schedule and not really having close enough connections to people. His cousin Ari had broken his regimen of healthy eating to eat cake with him for a few years in Reykjavik, but Ari had been across the ocean last year.  
  
Anthony gave him a softer, sweet kiss. "You're lovely."  
  
Sören felt his face flush. He gave Anthony a lingering, sensual kiss, his fingers walking down Anthony's chest and stomach towards the hard cock waiting for his attention. "There's something else I'd rather have in my mouth, though."  
  
Sören's birthday breakfast ended with a passionate sixty-nine, the two of them hungrily worshiping each other's cocks in earnest, sucking, licking, stroking, kissing, devouring, as their hands played over each other's bodies, caressing where they'd already this soon learned they liked to be touched, teased. They came together, which felt wonderfully intimate, and they tasted good together as they kissed, holding each other.  
  
Sören's orgasm was powerful - Anthony was talented, and Sören was very aroused by him. But as hard as he came, he still craved more. He started kissing Anthony insistently, and made a whine of protest when Anthony gently pushed him back, laughing softly.  
  
"Now, Sören. There's a lot of Paris to see and we have limited time." Anthony gave him a mischievous look. "We can wait until later for more, and I promise, it will be worth the wait."  
  
Sören gave another whine, but Anthony was right - Paris demanded exploring.  
  
In what Sören thought of his "civvies" - today it was a Nine Inch Nails "Pretty Hate Machine" T-shirt over a deep navy turtleneck, faded and worn jeans, and his leather bomber, his ever-present steel-toed Doc Martens boots - he was on Anthony's arm, with Anthony flawlessly elegant in a a trenchcoat, steel blue cashmere sweater, dark blue jeans, expensive brogues that _thocked_ on the sidewalk. They were very obviously a couple, walking around Paris hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm, and it amused Sören that they were such an odd couple, you could tell just by looking at them, but then, he knew this was a case of opposites attract.  
  
And he was so very attracted, stealing glances at Anthony every few paces.  
  
Their first day in Paris started with a visit to Saint Chapelle. The almost floor to ceiling stained glass windows were worth the queue, Sören's breath taken away as they walked inside. Sören kept pausing to stare and take it all in. Finally he took some pictures.  
  
"This sort of thing makes me wish I'd taken up glasswork," Sören whispered to Anthony. "I have no time to learn that, though."  
  
"If you like stained glass you'll love the home I grew up in. Some of the windows are stained glass. Not as magnificent as this, but still quite lovely."  
  
That sounded like Sören was going to meet Anthony's parents at some point. That sounded serious. Sören did an internal happy dance but tried to keep calm.  
  
Near Saint Chapelle was the famous Notre-Dame Cathedral. Sören made an excited squeak when he saw it - it was one thing to see pictures of it and another thing to see it live and in person. He made even more exuberant noises as they got closer, once again feeling self-conscious that he was being such an idiot. "Sorry," Sören said.  
  
"You're adorable." Anthony's grip tightened on his arm. "I love seeing your joy in all of this."  
  
"Have you ever been here before?" Sören facepalmed. "Er, that's a stupid question, you said you've been to Europe."  
  
"It's not a stupid question, Paris isn't all of France, after all. But yes, I've been here before. My first trip here was as a teenager, my mum is an architect and she insisted I see some of the architectural marvels of the world."  
  
"Oh wow, your mother is an _architect_?" Sören felt even more nervous now about showing Anthony his art.  
  
Anthony nodded. "She designed our home. Well, hers and my dad's, now."  
  
Again, that reminder Anthony came from money. Sören had a prickle of self-consciousness, remembering going to school in hand-me-downs from neighbors, especially "highwater pants" too short for his growing legs.  
  
Notre-Dame in person was a transcendent experience. They walked around to appreciate the exterior, Sören taking in the towers and buttresses from different angles. Anthony had pre-booked a timeslot for climbing the tower, and Sören made more happy noises in the tower, looking at the view, feeling a bit surreal. "Wow. _Wow._ WOW. I'm in Notre Fucking _Dame_. This is an artist's wet dream." He realized there were other people around. "Meep."  
  
Anthony's laughter rang out and he kissed Sören - not caring there were other people around. He tousled Sören's curls on the way out of the tower, smiling at him adoringly.  
  
"If you think that was an artist's wet dream..." Anthony led them to the metro. "You'll love where we go next."  
  
Sören screamed when he saw the glass pyramid of the Louvre. The queues were long but Anthony had a fast track advance pass so they didn't have to wait a ridiculous amount of time.  
  
The Louvre was one of those places where Sören could spend hours if not days, but they decided to limit the Louvre visit to four hours. Sören broke down weeping when he saw the Mona Lisa in person. He felt so stupid about crying over it in public, but Anthony was understanding, pulling Sören into a fierce, tight hug when Sören finally was able to unglue himself from the painting. Sören fell apart all over again at the Venus de Milo, and when they walked away from that, Anthony kissed his tears and pulled him into a sweet kiss that made Sören want to shove him on the floor and take him right then.  
  
Anthony opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, then thought better of it, and gave Sören a cryptic smile - Sören thought he could see a touch of longing in Anthony's eyes. He held Sören's hand tighter as they continued to walk around the museum.  
  
There was so much to marvel at - Greek antiquities, Islamic art. Pieces of ancient history, something Sören had a keen appreciation for with all of the Viking-era history ever-present in Iceland. It also put Sören in a philosophical mood, which he reflected on as they made their way out of the Louvre.  
  
"It's really amazing," Sören said, "the way the human impulse to create, make art, make beauty, is so consistent across ages, across cultures. It's the one thing that really unites us as a species."  
  
Anthony nodded.  
  
"It's so humbling, as an artist. I mean, my art is crap compared to anything in here -"  
  
"Once again, I doubt that, Sören." Anthony traced the flames on Sören's wrist.  
  
"But I make art anyway because _I need to_. It... it _burns._" Sören struggled for words to explain what happened to his mind when he got in "the zone". "When I see something in my mind's eye, it takes me over. It's like a fit. It's a special kind of madness, but it's one of the only things that keeps me sane."  
  
"You know," Anthony said, "this is going to sound really strange, but in a number of ancient pantheons, the god who was the patron of artists was also frequently a healer. Like Brighid, the Celtic goddess, comes immediately to mind. There seems to be a connection there -"  
  
Sören was delighted Anthony knew anything about that. _He's smart, good._ That might have been a given with his profession, but Sören tried not to assume anything about people.  
  
"It's life." Sören struggled again to find words for it, and would even if English was his native language. "There is no life without _life_. Healing the body... art heals the spirit. Medicine defies death... art celebrates living. Even in its pain. Especially in its pain. We can't appreciate joy without sadness." And Sören of course wished he'd never experienced so much of what he had - the abuse of his guardians, the bullying from his peers when he was a sensitive, intelligent young boy from an obvious "trash" background, later the escape into partying and meaningless sex that got him literally dumped in an alley, not able to remember what was done to him except whatever it was _hurt_. "The sadness sucks, though."  
  
Anthony's eyes darkened, and Sören knew that as much privilege as Anthony had known, he'd known heartache too.  
  
Sören got self-conscious about his last choice of words. "_The sadness sucks._ God, that sounds... so dumb -"  
  
Anthony grabbed him and kissed him hard enough to take his breath away. They both moaned into the wild, fierce kiss, the depth of what they'd just spoken to each other pulling them under, as if they were kissing and embracing with their souls, not just their bodies. When the kiss broke and their lips lingered, Sören was tempted to tell Anthony to take him back to the hotel.  
  
Anthony had reservations for them at a Michelin-starred restaurant with prices that made Sören boggle. Sören also didn't know the first thing about French food, so he let Anthony order for them - in French, which got Sören hot and bothered again. He still wasn't entirely sure what he was eating when it was brought to them, something with goose and potatoes, but it was delicious, subtle nuances of flavor that made him slow down and actually taste his food instead of wolfing it down like he was on break or at home alone feeding himself out of exhausted hunger, about to crash for the evening.  
  
The end of their first day in Paris was at the Eiffel Tower, which seemed rather mandatory. They watched the sunset fade into twilight and darkness from the top of the tower, kissing, touching, looking into each other's eyes between glimpses at the city of Paris. _The whole wide world,_ it seemed to Sören, looking down at everything, everything. He'd known there was more beyond Akureyri when he moved to Reykjavik, and more beyond Reykjavik when he moved to London, but there was _so_ much more, and he wanted it. He wanted to see the world. To live, beyond his job. To recharge his own skills as a healer by having these adventures. To fuel his art.  
  
To strengthen the bond he was forming with this wonderful man who was spoiling him. They leaned on each other, Anthony petting Sören's curls, until Sören looked over and up at him again and they shared another hungry kiss.  
  
It felt good to Sören to be in a place where they could be out without having to worry, remembering the shit he'd gotten in Akureyri in the early 00s before he moved to Reykjavik. Sören remarked on it as they finally left the Eiffel Tower, heading back to the hotel. "I like this. You being my boyfriend. Not having to hide."  
  
Anthony nodded. "I was a teenager in the 90s. That was not a fun time to be gay."  
  
"Jæja, I was a teenager for some of the 90s. I bet."  
  
"Times are better now. Not perfect by any means, but... better."  
  
"You said you came out to your parents in your late twenties? Was that coming out in general, or just to them?"  
  
"A bit of both. I lost my virginity when I was 19, at school. Cambridge. It was a friend, it was... neither awful nor was it amazing. I took some time off from school following my uncle's suicide - he wanted me to see the world, so I did, in his memory, and because I needed to escape, with my grief. I found out to my surprise and delight that European men are much less inhibited and, ah, cold, than British and American men tend to be. And Scandinavian men in particular are fun." Anthony gave Sören a wicked grin.  
  
"Jæja, Iceland is very... ah... libertine? Is that the word for it? You should have gone to Iceland." _I wish we'd met sooner._ But then, Sören wasn't sure that Anthony would have liked him as a med student and a fresh new doctor, a constant wreck of emotions.  
  
"Mmm, visiting Iceland someday would be nice. Anyway, I was absolutely certain by the time I got back from Europe that I was gay. But it took longer for me to tell my parents, because. Well. It's my parents. My dad is a Tory - " Sören made a noise and Anthony did too. "Yes, yes, I know. I used to be one, when I was younger, but I'm not at all socially conservative. I held off telling my parents as long as I could get away with."  
  
"So what prompted it? Relationship?"  
  
Anthony nodded.  
  
Sören was curious now - curiouser and curiouser, as if he'd fallen down a rabbit hole. "I've never been in a serious relationship, like I told you. I've had casual sex, friends with benefits... nothing more."  
  
"So you'd never fallen in love?"  
  
"Oh, I was in love once." Sören felt a tight ache in his chest, thinking of the blue eyes, the silver-blonde hair, the sweet face. _Karen._ "She was English, actually. We met at a pub, she was in Reykjavik for work. One of those, ah, stupid cliched love-at-first-sight things, but it was really real. And of course she never called or e-mailed me back." Sören gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "She was probably not actually interested, just being polite. I was probably too much of a dork for her."  
  
"Her loss." Anthony's hand tightened in Sören's.  
  
_I've been in love more than once now,_ Sören wanted to say, but didn't. He stroked Anthony's hand instead.  
  
"It's been awhile since my last relationship," Anthony said.  
  
"When you say awhile..."  
  
"Two years, roughly. I've had sex since then, obviously, but nothing I would consider relationship material until now."  
  
"How long?"  
  
"Not long. I've had a few other relationships, none lasted longer than a year. Most of them fizzled out, we just grew apart. The last one was ugly - he wasn't out, which I will respect for the sake of one's profession if necessary, but I found out at the end he was married to a woman, had kids and everything, so I was the other man and didn't know it, until of course, I did. I went on a bender."  
  
"Oh god, Anthony, I'm sorry." Sören ached for him.  
  
A rueful smile. "So am I." Anthony patted Sören. "I'm over him now. Have been for some time."  
  
"Is it going to bother you that I'm bisexual?"  
  
"No, you were honest about that from the beginning."  
  
Sören stopped walking and took Anthony in his arms, wanting to reassure him. Anthony returned the hug, holding Sören tight.  
  
As soon as they got in their hotel room, Sören and Anthony began undressing. Anthony turned on the hot tub and they got in together and spent awhile cuddling, drinking champagne. It was relaxing, all the tension in Sören's muscles from the long workweek draining out of him. Relaxation gave way to arousal, with the kissing and touching throughout the day teasing Sören enough that he was more than ready for sex.  
  
More than ready for making love, wanting to explore those awakening feelings with being naked and vulnerable in his lover's arms.  
  
Anthony, of course, wanted to tease Sören some more. When they got out of the hot tub and took a shower, Anthony's hands on Sören's body were slow and deliberate, kissing his neck and shoulder, amusing himself with the noises Sören made as he explored that most erogenous part of him.  
  
Then he teased further, dimming the lights to a soft golden glow as he led Sören to the bed. He put Sade on the stereo and Sören saw that Anthony had packed vanilla-flavored massage oil, which he'd been warming in the kitchenette of their hotel suite. Anthony had Sören lay on his stomach and he proceeded to rub Sören down, kneading away the knots in his shoulders and biceps, his upper back, his lower back, his ass and the backs of his thighs. Anthony's hard cock rubbed in the crack of Sören's ass as his hands worked their magic, and Sören found he _really_ wanted Anthony to top him, sometime. He wasn't quite ready for that, his body remembering that morning in the Reykjavik alley, but soon. When the time was right.  
  
In the meantime, Sören moaned and sighed as Anthony worked him over like he had all the time in the world to spoil his lover. Sören also realized the vanilla-flavored oil had been deliberate, as he felt Anthony lean in to kiss and lick his shoulder blades, lips and tongue trailing down his spine, making Sören shiver and break out in gooseflesh, cock throbbing, hole twitching, wanting him more and more with each second of exquisite, delicious sensation coursing through him.  
  
"If your art is like the ink on your back, it's not crap at all, Sören."  
  
Those words were just as soothing, caring as his touch. Sören hoped he really meant that and when he eventually showed Anthony his work tomorrow. His eyes misted, stomach fluttering. His heart felt like it could fly when Anthony's fingers traced the birds on his back, and lingered on the scars the ink covered - Anthony could see them, and likely knew they were from his alcoholic guardians. Sören's eyes teared up harder when Anthony kissed them, reverently, fingers continuing to trace over Sören's ink, like he was worshiping Sören, committing his body to memory.  
  
Anthony teasing the front of him was even better - and worse. Sören's moans got louder as Anthony's hands rubbed and caressed his arms, chest, stomach, his thighs and calves. His fingers "accidentally" brushed Sören's nipples and then more deliberately, playing with the aching nubs, playing with the rings, leaning in to kiss them, lick, suckle, nibble, sucking harder at Sören's cries, panting, arching to him. "Oh god, Anthony, please."  
  
After awhile Anthony was playing with Sören's cock as he continued feasting on Sören's nipples, and when Anthony's head dove between Sören's legs to take him into his mouth, Sören let out a fierce cry. Anthony sucked slowly, sweetly, rubbing his tongue as he sucked, and he played with Sören's balls, fingers brushing the sensitive place between balls and ass. Sören grabbed Anthony's head and bucked, panting, gasping, writhing. He heard himself almost sobbing as Anthony slowly edged him closer, making "mmmmm" noises of pleasure, lust in his eyes.  
  
Sören found himself gently fucking Anthony's mouth at the end, giving shuddery gasps, and then at last a cry of "oh god, _Anthony_, yes," as he let go, coming in his waiting mouth. Anthony swallowed and came up to kiss Sören fiercely, rock hard and grinding against his thigh.  
  
They both reached for the condoms, and Anthony was quicker. "I'm tempted to say fuck it and let you breed me," Anthony rasped between kisses at Sören's neck, "but."  
  
"No listen, as a doctor, I appreciate you being careful. We'll get tested."  
  
Anthony nodded. "Things were scarier when I was young, dumb, and horny. I was very lucky." Then Anthony grinned. "Well, I'm still horny, and you make me stupid."  
  
"Hi Still Horny And You Make Me Stupid -"  
  
Anthony _bit_ Sören's shoulder, which made Sören cry out and his cock leapt at that, which Anthony laughed at. "Well," Anthony said, petting Sören's cock, "_someone_ has a fetish."  
  
Sören giggled and quipped, "Who?"  
  
Anthony grinned. "It's a mystery." He kissed Sören and then his tongue licked where he'd just bitten, soothing and arousing the skin, and he nibbled Sören's neck as they rolled a condom onto Sören's cock.  
  
Anthony straddled Sören's hips and rode him, slowly. It had been a very long time since Sören had been ridden - indeed, Sören was usually the one to do the riding - and Sören gloried in it, watching him, touching him, being touched. It was incredibly sensual, with Sören's arousal fueled not just by the sweet vise-like grip around his cock and the silken rhythm of their bodies, but being lost in beauty, in wonder...  
  
_...in love._  
  
He felt taken care of, tonight. He spent so much time taking care of other people, running on empty. Anthony seemed to understand that better than most, in his own line of work. And that Anthony was taking time and trouble to make his birthday this special...  
  
Sören choked back the three little words. He sucked Anthony's fingers, tasting Anthony's precum on them, to make himself not say it, not yet, not wanting to scare him away, but god, he felt it.  
  
When Anthony was riding him harder, Sören went from fighting off those three little words to not being able to make words at all, fighting off his own release. Watching Anthony in ecstasy, enjoying his cock as much as he did... Sören loved pleasing just as much as he loved to be pleased. And at last, when Anthony came first, as Sören wanted him to, seeing the look of what could only be described as euphoric joy on his face as he erupted made Sören come and come and come, a full-body orgasm that seemed to go on forever.  
  
It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. Anthony lay on his back and they feverishly rolled another condom onto Sören's cock. Sören took him again, Anthony wrapping his arms and legs around him, holding Sören with all of him, the two of them kissing passionately with each thrust. A slow build, like waves, with the storm rolling in the distance, on its way.  
  
_You're ruling the way that I move  
And I breathe your air  
You only can rescue me  
This is my prayer  
If you were mine  
If you were mine  
I wouldn't want to go to heaven  
  
I cherish the day  
I won't go astray  
I won't be afraid  
You won't catch me running  
You're ruling the way that I move  
You take my air  
  
You show me how deep love can be_  
  
"Oh god." Sören was almost sobbing again. He claimed Anthony's mouth again and again, like he was claiming all of him.  
  
"Sören." Anthony kissed Sören's neck, hands sliding over Sören's back, hips rolling, urging him on faster. Not too fast, not just yet, but enough. "Sören..."  
  
"Oh my fucking god." Sören shuddered, speeding up. Needing. _Needing._  
  
The kisses got hungrier, their hands more possessive. And finally Sören was pounding him, encouraged by Anthony's cries, Anthony's deeper kisses like he wanted to consume Sören. The bed rocked against the wall, Sören wondered if they'd get a complaint from the concierge about their noises and he didn't care. This was glorious.  
  
Anthony came hard, looking like he'd seen God himself when he spent over Sören, making shuddery gasps that turned into deep moans, before he breathed, "Sören. _Sören..._"  
  
Three thrusts and Sören gave in with a shout of "_Anthony!_", collapsing onto him, his whole body trembling, the pleasure almost terrifying in its intensity. No one had ever made him come like this. No one had ever made him want like this.  
  
It was a shattering enough release that they both dozed off after a few minutes of sleepily holding and petting and kissing. In the middle of the night they woke up hungry again but were still in that drowsy haze - awake enough to consent, not so awake they wanted to get into something athletic. With sweet, sleepy kisses, Sören took them both in his hand, stroking their cocks together, and in the last few minutes, both of them trembling, breathing harder, Anthony took them out of Sören's hand and into his own, bringing them to the finish. Sören buried his face in Anthony's chest as he cried out and Anthony pet him, rocked him, legs braiding more tightly with his.  
  
They had another sixty-nine with breakfast before they hit the city for their second day. This time they started with the Opera Garnier - they weren't going to an actual opera, but to see the building itself, which was the inspiration for "Phantom of the Opera". The tour showed them the grand theatre, the huge staircase, the chandelier and the balcony. Anthony kissed him there too, and Sören could have sung for joy.  
  
The Musee d'Orsay was another high point, with Sören making giddy noises at the works of Monet, van Gogh, Cezanne and Renoir. The building alone was worth visiting, never mind the masterpieces within.  
  
They strolled along the Left Bank after the museum, holding hands, kissing. They passed by an elegant older woman with silver hair in a chignon wearing a purple coat, a purple feathered hat and dark glasses, carrying a Louis Vuitton bag, who smiled and waved as if she knew them. Anthony and Sören paused, and the woman came over and said in a French accent so heavy as if to be comical, "It is so good to see two people so much in love. I just needed to say that to you, how beautiful the two of you are together."  
  
Anthony took the woman's hand and kissed it. "_Vos mots me touchent et une appréciation de la beauté vous a gardé belle, madame_."  
  
"Oh, _bah_, I am old enough to be your mother." She was clearly relishing the attention, and Sören was amused by it. She beamed at Sören, and then she turned back to Anthony and she said, "_Prenez soin de celui-ci, oui? Il a quelque chose de différent en lui, quelque chose de spécial. Je pense que vous avez une idée de ce que je veux dire, peut-être._" She quickly added, "_Je l'ai vu pleurer au Louvre. Son feu brûle profondément._"  
  
"_Je suis d'accord. C'est très bientôt dans notre relation, mais aussi étrange que cela puisse paraître, je pense avoir trouvé "celle-là"._" Anthony looked at Sören and tousled his curls.  
  
"_Très bien._" The woman waved as she began to stroll off. "Have a wonderful day, you two."  
  
Sören raised an eyebrow at Anthony and said, "I have no idea what was any of that you just said, but it sounds sexy as hell."  
  
Then Sören realized Anthony hadn't contradicted the Frenchwoman when she remarked on them being in love - at least not what he could understand in English - and Sören hadn't denied it, either. He still hesitated to say _I love you_, feeling shy, still wary. But the giddy flush of love made him giggle as Anthony pulled him closer, as they resumed walking along the Left Bank.  
  
They had another expensive dinner out, with wine, and Anthony played footsie with him under the table again. Sören was feeling hornier and hornier, it taking every ounce of his restraint to not throw Anthony on top of their table and fuck him for all of Paris to see. He said as much when they left the restaurant. "I wanted to take you on the table."  
  
"Oh my god, Sören." Anthony turned beetroot and his eyes twinkled. Then he leaned in, kissed Sören, and husked, "I wouldn't have stopped you."  
  
"God." Sören giggled and kissed him back. "You could get me in real trouble with the law, Anthony Hewlett-Johnson."  
  
"I think I know a barrister who could defend you."  
  
Sören snorted and gave him a playful shove, and Anthony ruffled Sören's hair and kissed him deeply. They made out the entire taxi ride back to the hotel, Sören feeling like a horny teenager again, and when they got in the hotel room Anthony dropped to his knees, yanked down Sören's jeans and boxer-briefs, and blew him right there just as he'd done in the supply closet earlier that week.  
  
After he climaxed Sören dragged Anthony to bed and returned the favor, with Anthony being so aroused from going down on Sören that he came within minutes, crying out Sören's name over and over again as he lost control. That aroused Sören, but Anthony was going to need time to recharge, and Sören was perfectly content snuggling with him - he found he liked the afterglow cuddling as much as he liked sex.  
  
He'd hoped Anthony would be wrecked enough from his orgasm to forget about Sören's art for awhile, but then, before Sören could doze off a little, Anthony started poking him, like he was a big kid wanting attention. "Sören. Did you bring it?"  
  
"Bring what," Sören mumbled.  
  
"Your sketchbook."  
  
Sören made a noise.  
  
"Awwww, Sören, come on, I want to see..."  
  
He sounded so boyish right then that Sören had to indulge him. _Jesus, it's like he's my little brother, even though he's older._ Sören grabbed the sketchbook out of his satchel and sat up with Anthony, leaning on him. "I feel really stupid about showing this after we were in the bloody Louvre and Musee d'Orsay -"  
  
Anthony shot him a filthy look and snatched the sketchbook out of Sören's hands like it belonged to him. He hissed like a cat, and it was so comical that Sören doubled over, wheezing. Then he sobered when Anthony flipped it open and began leafing through. Not reacting - ever the courtroom professional outside of the courtroom, playing his cards close to his chest. But finally he looked at Sören with something like awe in his eyes.  
  
"Sören. Your work is fucking incredible."  
  
"Oh, Jesus Christ, Anthony -" Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls.  
  
Anthony grabbed Sören's face and kissed him hard. He began to flip back through the sketchbook to show Sören a few that stood out at him. "The detail in these is... it's remarkable. These flowers. That bird." He smiled fondly. "The faeries and elves."  
  
"You don't think it's stupid?"  
  
"Sören Sigurðsson, I swear if you call your art 'crap' or 'stupid' one more _fucking_ time."  
  
Sören couldn't help laughing at the steel in him, and felt a frisson of arousal at the same time.  
  
Then Anthony flipped to a colored pencil portrait Sören had done of his brother, catching a falling star from the sky.  
  
"That's my brother Dag. Twin brother."  
  
"His personality comes off in this portrait almost like I know him."  
  
"And that's my sister Margrét." Sören swallowed hard as Anthony thumbed to another page and lingered there. He had turned Margrét into a Valkyrie with a winged stallion.  
  
"The one who was murdered."  
  
Sören nodded. "She was a trans woman. She was stabbed to death -"  
  
"_Jesus._" Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm so sorry, Sören. I don't know why people have to be so..." He struggled to find the words. "So fucking _hateful._"  
  
Sören took Anthony's hand and kissed it.  
  
"I see some very dark things in my line of work," Anthony said, looking off into the distance. "There are days when I have genuinely wondered if there is more evil than good in the world." Then he looked at Sören. "But you. Shine so brightly."  
  
"You barely know me." Those words were directed as much at himself, falling for Anthony like he was.  
  
"I already know more than you think I do. I watch. I observe. And you're not exactly a hard one to figure out. Like you crying in the Louvre yesterday. I'd wanted to make you happy, bringing you to Paris, when you told me you're an artist in your spare time I thought you might appreciate something like that, but I wasn't expecting to see..." Anthony made a vague hand gesture, looking for the right word. "Your soul, opened up."  
  
"And what did you see?"  
  
"I saw fire." Anthony took Sören's chin in his hand and his thumb traced Sören's full lips, eyes probing. "I saw light."  
  
He kissed Sören hard, and put Sören's sketchbook off to the side. "Your work is beautiful." Anthony's fingers traced down from Sören's lips to his heart. "Who you are, is beautiful, and god help me, I need you." He grabbed Sören and kissed him even harder than before.  
  
Sören took Anthony on his back, sweet and slow, lost in a dreamy haze of sensuality, melting, teasing, not able to stop touching, as if they were long-lost lovers reunited, hungering for each other's skin, needing the connection to last as long as possible. Kissing and kissing, eating each other alive. And at last Anthony kissed Sören's neck and rasped, "Take me hard, Sören. Show me fire."  
  
Sören bit his neck and drove into him with abandon, Anthony's legs on his shoulders. He gave it as long as Anthony could take it - and he could take a good punishing for an impressively long time. When Anthony lost control, screaming Sören's name, Sören spent with a hoarse shout, laughing and crying as his body heaved, fingers and toes curling involuntarily.  
  
"Sören." Anthony grabbed him and held him, rocked him. "Oh my god, Sören, that was..." He sighed. "Transcendent."  
  
"What you said," Sören breathed, and giggled uncontrollably.  
  
After they cuddled and dozed off, they woke up awhile later and took another soak in the hot tub. They ended up making out in the hot tub and stroking each other to climax there, and when they got back in bed they rubbed cock to cock, kissing, still hungry but sated enough to crave something more slow and sensual. Watching their cocks shoot together made Sören feel like the entire universe was exploding out of him, continuing to twitch and moan until sleep claimed him again.  
  
It rained in Paris on Sunday which was just as well because their grand finale was spending the entire day in bed making love for hours, in different positions - Anthony riding Sören... Anthony on his back with a leg hooked over Sören's shoulder... the two of them laying on their sides sucking each other... Sören on his knees, taking Anthony doggy style, fucking him hard... later, Anthony on his stomach with Sören laying on Anthony's back and taking him from behind much more gently, kissing his neck and shoulder, tilting Anthony's face so they could kiss, holding hands... laying face to face, kissing, petting, rubbing cock to cock. There was something absolutely perfect, to Sören's way of thinking, about them getting sweaty and cum-soaked together as the rain fell outside, curling up between orgasms to look out the penthouse view at the city, still achingly gorgeous in the rain.  
  
They showered and stroked each other to another climax before they had to leave for their flight back to London. Sören blew a kiss into the wind and rain as they reached the airport, and he looked out the window at takeoff, blowing a kiss at the Eiffel Tower before it disappeared into the fog.  
  
Anthony invited Sören to spend the night with him and take him to work in the morning, with laundry facilities at his flat so Sören could wash and re-wear the scrubs he'd left London in. He was in no rush to get back, driving slowly in the rain, and when Sade came on the radio it reminded Sören of their lovemaking on Friday night and he found himself kissing Anthony, then kissing his neck, getting Anthony hard while he was driving. Sören had never done anything like this before, but he leaned over, got Anthony's cock out, and started sucking him off right then. When Anthony's driving started to be affected, swerving just a little - not enough to be dangerous, but enough to cause him alarm - he pulled over, and once he was safely pulled over he grabbed Sören's head and leaned back in his seat, shuddering and moaning. Sören sucked him to an ejaculation, savoring the taste of him as he swallowed it down, kissing Anthony and letting him taste himself.  
  
"Jesus, Sören."  
  
"You've never gotten road head?"  
  
"That would be a no."  
  
"I've never given road head, but I wanted to for you."  
  
"God." Anthony laughed, still looking dazed and happy from the orgasm. "What's gotten into me?"  
  
"My cock, for starters."  
  
Anthony laughed harder. "Incorrigible."  
  
"_Takk._" Sören reveled in it, loving that smile on Anthony's face as he resumed driving them back to Kingston upon Thames. This was what he wanted - he'd just come back from the most magical weekend of his life and he knew, somehow, there was even greater magic to come. They _belonged._


	6. Lost and Found

_A modern day warrior  
Mean, mean stride  
Today's Tom Sawyer  
Mean, mean pride  
  
Though his mind is not for rent  
Don't put him down as arrogant  
His reserve, a quiet defense  
Riding out the day's events  
The river_  
  
Sören's last job of the day was a ventriculo-peritoneal shunt. He and Colin were currently attaching a valve to a proximal catheter, two sets of hands working together with precision, like they were playing a musical instrument, but that instrument was the human body.  
  
_What you say about his company  
Is what you say about society  
Catch the mist, catch the myth  
Catch the mystery, catch the drift  
  
The world is, the world is  
Love and life are deep  
Maybe as his skies are wide_  
  
Sören had done countless procedures now and no matter how many times he'd operated he still felt a quiet sense of awe that he could go in, cut open someone's brain and spine, twiddle around, and the person would be OK afterwards. He was fascinated by the marvel that was man, a machine that could be broken, taken apart and put back together.  
  
On the occasion that Sören talked to strangers and was asked what he did for a living, the most common question he got about neurosurgery was if he was grossed out, or afraid of blood. Sören was relieved that Anthony hadn't asked him that, his partner seemed to have good enough sense to understand that if those things had been problems Sören wouldn't be in that profession. What Sören found gross, and fearful, was not the blood, not the open, raw meat and going inside to poke around, but the spectre of death hanging over people, and all too often, people too young to die, or people with too much life to give up on life. Sören understood that to Anthony, every client he had was potentially someone like his uncle, and to Sören, every patient he had was potentially his mamma. Every person he opened up, unraveled and knit back together, they were somebody to someone - parent, child, lover, friend.  
  
Sören had felt so powerless the day his mamma had a bad headache, lay down for a nap, and never woke up again. He couldn't save her, but the strength of his will pushed him to do what he could for others.  
  
To exorcise that spectre of death and re-quicken the spark of life... that was magic. At times, the artist in Sören would see in his mind's eye visions not unlike the paintings of Alex Grey, the human body electric with millions of wires of energy, color and light. His tools, his fingers, touched the weave of worlds within them, the brain the house of the soul, the patient on a journey on his table like the mythological journeys through the underworld and back. Sören was not a religious or superstitious man but as an artist he appreciated the poetry of mythology, its symbolism, fragments of a deeper, greater truth, and when Sören was operating he rather understood why in ancient times the healers were shamans. There was a magic in this, one that was hard to put into words but one that he _felt_, and each time he did an operation he was tapping into that magic, defying death once more, hallowing that weave of worlds inside each patient with a cleansing fire, a light that held back the darkness this time. _Not today._  
  
It was a magic that didn't just fix whatever was broken, here on his table, but it helped to heal that wound inside him, ripped open the day his mamma died. It would never be fully healed, Sören knew that, but it was better than it was, years ago.  
  
When Sören had decided to go into neurosurgery in particular, knowing it was one of the most taxing specialties, he had heard it described as a calling, with the kind of brutal hours neurosurgeons put in, working on some of the most delicate, complex procedures in medicine. Sören understood that concept each time he operated. Some people had religion and a Higher Power, this was Sören's religion, this was what he dedicated his devotion to. Life.  
  
His day was not quite done when the shunt was complete. Now he had a scan, and then he met with the patient's family to go over what he could of what he'd just done, necessities of aftercare and followup, and was ready to answer any questions they had. The discussions with family or partners was one of the best and worst parts of this job - best when it gave some good news that they badly needed to hear, worst if the family blamed him for what was outside his control, and especially when they misunderstood that there were limits to the miracle work that could be done and often the operating table was the beginning of the road back, not the end. Nobody liked to hear that there was going to be more scans, therapy, and possibly no such thing as "good as new", only a new normal of what was possible. Mercifully, today Sören had a family who was more grateful than entitled, thanking him profusely for his work, and it made Sören smile on his way out of the meeting, feeling relief at their relief, hope at their hope.  
  
After Sören and Colin scrubbed out, Colin bro-fisted him. "You want a ride back to Bromley, mate?" Colin asked. "You look dead on your feet."  
  
Sören laughed softly. "This is going to sound strange, but I like taking the Tube. It's just... a routine I have, I zone out. And it's raining. Those last few minutes walking home in the rain, it... it feels good." Sören felt a little sheepish, but he always got overheated when he operated, as if he were wielding fire, even though the operating theatre was climate controlled.  
  
"I get it." Colin nodded.  
  
"Thank you for offering, though! I'll see you tomorrow, já?"  
  
"Yeah. You ready for hell?"  
  
"God, about as ready as I'll ever be."  
  
"Tomorrow" was technically "tonight", starting at 11 PM, with Colin and Sören both scheduled for an overnight shift that would last until 11 AM, realistically more like 1-2 PM. Sören didn't always work overnight but at least once a fortnight he'd have to pull an all-nighter. Colin and Sören joked about these shifts being "hell" because these were when the emergencies came in, with fewer staff to handle them - the overnight shifts felt more taxing than usual because they _were_.  
  
It was one in the afternoon now - Sören having a shorter work day than usual today was to account for the fact that he'd be going back to work in ten hours. Rather than spending his evening with Anthony, he'd be going to his place in Bromley and basically eating and going to bed. But Anthony was going to call him when he had a break from work at his chambers later this afternoon, and Sören was so very looking forward to the sound of his voice. He had that funny feeling in his chest and stomach just thinking about it.  
  
He thought about calling Anthony first, but he didn't want to interrupt, and he didn't want to come off as needy, desperate, clingy. Not that Anthony had given any indicator that Sören was behaving in such a way - just the opposite, Anthony was very attentive and warm and he basked in Sören's attention and warmth. But Sören still felt self-conscious about how hard he'd fallen. He still hadn't worked up enough courage to tell Anthony he was in love, which Sören realized was a holdover from his hookup days where signs of attachment were the antithesis of casual sex and would result in him being ghosted if he wanted more than a one-night stand, like an occasional fuckbuddy. This wasn't casual, especially not what they'd shared in Paris just over a week ago. Sören still worried about scaring Anthony away with things moving too fast, escalating with intensity. "You're too intense" was something Sören had heard more than once back in his hookup days in Iceland when he wanted cuddles, wanted raw, primal, insatiable passion. Sören knew Anthony was drawn to his fire, but nonetheless he didn't want Anthony to feel burned, with Anthony's own schedule being what it was, the adjustments he was having to make to his own life to make space for someone else.  
  
On the Tube ride to Bromley, Sören put in his earbuds and began the process of decompressing from work, listening to a random-shuffle playlist of prog metal. He began to enter a lightly meditative state as "Rosemary" by Deftones came on, in the minutes before his stop.  
  
_There's no sound  
But the engine's drone  
Our minds set free  
To roam  
  
Time shifting  
We discover the entry  
To other planes  
  
Our minds bend  
And our fingers fold  
Entwined, we dream  
I know  
  
Time shifting  
We discover the entry  
To other planes  
  
Stay with me  
As we cross the empty skies  
Come sail with me  
  
We slow down  
As the engines stall  
Our eyes catch sea  
Explode  
  
Time shifting  
We discover the entry  
To other planes  
  
Time shifting  
As we collide with the energy  
In other worlds  
  
Stay with me  
As we cross the empty skies  
Come sail with me  
We play in dreams  
As we cross the space and time  
Just stay with me_  
  
Sören was in enough of a daze that he bumped into someone on his way off the train, hard enough for Sören to fall over into a puddle. Sören managed to break his fall so he wouldn't get injured, but still ended up getting jostled and drenched. He was startled enough to need his inhaler, and as he puffed he got bumped again.  
  
_There goes my good mood._ At least hearing from Anthony would redeem this afternoon.  
  
Sören went in his flat, changed into pajamas, scrubbed in, and set to work transferring food that had been in the slow cooker into a bowl for eating now and containers to fridge and reheat later. It was nothing fancy - a homemade stew with beef and vegetables, but it was good on a chilly, rainy day like this.  
  
After Sören ate, he went to his leather duster hanging up to retrieve his cell phone in anticipation of Anthony's call. And then he found that his phone wasn't in his coat. At all. Sören recalled the fall in the puddle, then being jostled again as he was using his inhaler.  
  
"_Tíkasonur, blóðugur móðurfokk helvíti._"  
  
He was already in his pajamas, and would have to put his clothes back on and go for a walk on the chance that the phone was even still there - he had strong doubts that it was, and he knew with his luck he might have lost it even before that, maybe on the Tube or at the hospital. Meanwhile, it wasn't simply that he absolutely _had_ to get to bed soon if he was going to be functional for his overnight shift, but even with a shorter work day today he was exhausted and his body needed to crash anyway.  
  
Getting changed to go down to the chip shop or another place nearby and asking to use the phone wouldn't work because he hadn't memorized Anthony's number - he had too much information in his head to keep straight, things like phone numbers and e-mails had to be plugged in somewhere or he couldn't trust himself to remember. And he hadn't thought to ask for Anthony's e-mail, they'd as yet only communicated by phone. Sören was sure he could probably Google the name Anthony Hewlett-Johnson and get an e-mail address, but then he wasn't sure if it was wise to shoot off something personal on his work e-mail.  
  
"_Ég hef ekki fokking tíma fyrir þetta... og hann mun halda að ég sé að hunsa hann..._" Sören facepalmed and hit himself in the forehead. "_Fokk, fokk,_ FOKK, _skít, guð fjandinn, ég þurfti ekki þetta kjaftæði!_"  
  
Sören knew that while Anthony had common sense and might wonder if Sören had just passed out or perhaps lost his phone, there was also a real potential for Anthony to wonder if he was being ignored, and for that to create problems between them. Sören let out a wordless grit-teeth scream, angry with himself for losing his phone. _I've fucked everything up now._  
  
And there was nothing he could do about it right now. Already, he was going to be running under eight hours of sleep if he went to bed and fell asleep immediately. Sören continued cursing under his breath as he folded out his couch into a bed, made it, and got in.  
  
_I'll see what I can do to fix this tomorrow after work._ Telling himself that gave him back enough of a tiny sliver of control, so he could go to sleep.  
  
  
_  
  
  
  
The overnight shift was even more chaotic than Sören and Colin had feared, and as upset as Sören was when he got into work, still fretting about his lost phone and Anthony's reaction, his thoughts were quickly taken over by emergencies coming in that had to be handled. It was close to one PM when Sören and Colin were finished, and just before Colin could head out, something from a conversation Sören had with Anthony came crashing into his head. Making Sören feel frustrated that he couldn't remember numbers but he could remember this.  
  
"Colin, wait up a minute?"  
  
Colin paused.  
  
"This is going to seem a weird question, but, ah, where does your sister work?"  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"Diana."  
  
Colin laughed. "Why? You stalking my sister, mate?" He playfully punched Sören in the arm.  
  
"Ha ha, no." Sören pursed his lips. "Your sister is my boyfriend's EA or whatever it's called."  
  
Colin's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. "_That's_ who you're dating? Holy shit, mate."  
  
"Jæja, I'm dating Anthony Hewlett-Johnson."  
  
"_Jesus._" Then Colin raised an eyebrow. "You're dating this bloke and you don't know _where_ he works?"  
  
"Obviously I know he's a barrister but I like... never... asked. It hasn't been that long we've been dating, just a couple weeks. Usually when we're together we talk about other stuff. Or we... you know. Don't talk."  
  
Colin facepalmed. "Oh god, I shouldn't have asked that, I walked right sodding into that."  
  
Sören grinned, not able to resist. "Emphasis on the sodding -"  
  
"Yeah, piss off." Colin grinned, rolling his eyes.  
  
"Anyway, I need to go down -" Sören continued the cheekiness, unable to help himself, because Colin was just as bad sometimes where women he was dating were concerned. They were professional enough to only be like this in private moments and not in front of other colleagues, especially not ladies, not wanting them to feel sexually harassed in any way, but it was one reason why Sören and Colin got along so well, they had a similar raunchy sense of humor.  
  
"Good god, Sören."  
  
"I need to go to his office because I lost my fucking phone yesterday and missed a call from him and I don't know how he'll take that."  
  
And then Colin gave Sören a long, pointed look. "Wow, mate, you have it bad for this bloke, yeah?"  
  
Sören looked down and nodded, face on fire.  
  
Colin slapped his shoulder. "I wouldn't worry too much, Sören, these things happen, if you explain it to him he'll know you're telling the truth. He'll just know, trust me."  
  
Sören realized that yes, Anthony would know, being well used to spotting lies and half-truths and evasions in the courtroom, but it felt comforting to hear it from someone whose sister worked closely with the man and likely had things to say about him.  
  
"And yeah, Diana works at Lincoln's Inn Fields, in Temple, you want to go to Garden Court Chambers."  
  
"_Takk_, Colin, you're a lifesaver." Sören raised an eyebrow. "One more thing... I need directions. Written down, if possible."  
  
Armed with directions, Sören found the place. As he approached the law offices, he felt self-conscious about being in a place full of suits when he was coming fresh off of work in his scrubs - at least he wasn't still wearing a cap, and the little flashlight that he had to wear on his cap during surgery, though he and Colin made jokes about how they got to wear "the cool hats".  
  
At the reception desk Sören didn't have to wait long. "Hi, I'm here to see Anthony Hewlett-Johnson?"  
  
"Do you have an appointment, Mr..."  
  
"Er, no, I don't, but it's important. Urgent."  
  
He was given a dirty look, but asked to sit down nonetheless. Sören's anxiety mounted at the expensive leather couch, the wood and glass all around, elegant, making him feel even more out of place in his duster and scrubs, his mop of curls a damp mess from the wet weather after being unleashed from the man bun he wore at work. He saw the crest in the lobby, and his eyes locked onto the motto: _Do right, fear no-one._  
  
A frisson went down Sören's spine. _That's my Anthony._  
  
And then a prickle: _My Anthony?_ My _Anthony. I'm thinking of him as mine now. Oh yes, I have it bad._  
  
Sören did have to wait a bit of time, and then it wasn't Anthony who came out, but a pretty woman with brown skin, expressive hazel-brown eyes in a heart-shaped face, dark curls in a tight, sleek ponytail, a slim figure in a navy suit with a skirt and a white blouse, showing off calves that made Sören stare for a few seconds. This had to be Diana Traynor.  
  
"Hello, you're here to see Mr. Hewlett-Johnson?"  
  
"Yes, hi... you're Diana, right?"  
  
The woman gave him a "do I know you" look. "You are..."  
  
"Sören Sigurðsson."  
  
"Oh! You're _that_ Sören, you know my brother!"  
  
"Oh shi - er, oh, darn..." Sören saw Diana fight off a grin at the near-slip. "Does Colin talk about me?"  
  
"He's mentioned you a few times. Always nice things. Says you're a funny guy."  
  
Their eyes met, Diana flashed him a lovely smile, and if this had been a few months or even a few weeks ago, Sören would have gone against his usual shyness and caution and asked Diana to dinner or to have a drink and see where it went from there. He realized then that yes, he did crave a woman's touch sometimes, and he didn't want to take the risk of asking Anthony for an open relationship after Anthony's experience with being "the other man", so he was looking at being strictly gay in practice for the foreseeable future, even though he still found women attractive and felt desire for them. That was something he was going to have to live with, but... he'd do it for Anthony.  
  
_God, I really am in love with him. Jesus._  
  
"Right, so, ah." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. He didn't know if Anthony had mentioned to Diana that he was dating Sören, and Sören got the distinct sense that was not something to discuss out here in the open regardless.  
  
"Right, let me check his diary for when he'll be free and I'll be back in a moment?"  
  
Sören huffed, not liking there was a possibility he'd be stuck here until Anthony got off work for the day, not knowing what his plans were after work, or he'd have waited. "I really need to see him today. It's kind of urgent. Please tell him Sören Sigurðsson is here, he'll understand just from my name."  
  
"All right. I'll be back in just a minute."  
  
"A minute" was more like five, but it wasn't as long as he had been waiting. And when Diana came back she made the "come along" gesture. Sören rose from the couch and followed Diana down a hall, past a series of doors. Sören's heart pounded with each one, pit of his stomach rising, afraid that somehow, Anthony would assume he'd been ignored and it would be all over...  
  
_Uh, no, idiot, he's a defense barrister. He's letting you present your side of things. Chill._  
  
It was even the slightest possibility that things could go badly that worried Sören - desperately not wanting to lose him - and beneath that, the worry that Anthony _had_ felt ignored, had been wondering what happened... Sören feeling awful that Anthony would be upset at something he did, even by accident, not wanting to cause him pain...  
  
_Fuck. Shit. I love him._  
  
And there they were. Anthony was in an office with wood paneling, his desk long and made of dark wood, his chair high-backed leather. He was in a charcoal grey suit, white shirt, grey tie, ever the consummate professional. Diana gave a nod and then as she left Sören there, she closed the door behind her, giving them a knowing look on her way out.  
  
"Sören." Anthony looked him up and down, his expression neutral, his voice neutral. "This is unexpected."  
  
"I lost my phone," Sören said.  
  
"Oh." And then Anthony's face and voice were less neutral. His eyes were suddenly too bright. "_Oh._"  
  
"Oh god, Anthony, you thought I was ignoring you?"  
  
Anthony closed his eyes and nodded, saying nothing.  
  
Sören came right over to the desk. He put his arms around Anthony, pulled him close, and then he was mindful of the fact that his leather duster was wet from outside. "Er, I need to take this off..."  
  
Anthony gestured to a coatrack in the corner of the office, where his own trenchcoat was hanging. Sören pulled off his duster, hung it up, and then he came back to Anthony and gave him a fierce, tight hug, cradling Anthony's head in his chest, petting his hair. He heard that sharp exhale, the little tremble that was a tell Anthony was crying a little.  
  
"Oh my god. Anthony."  
  
"Shit." Anthony pulled back, looking down, his cheeks pink, his eyes damp. "I... I don't cry, Sören. I don't cry, and I especially do not cry at work."  
  
"I'm sorry -"  
  
"No, it's." Anthony wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. He looked up at Sören then. "I didn't know why you weren't answering your phone. I was afraid I'd lost you, and -"  
  
Sören grabbed Anthony and kissed him. Sören's cock woke up at the kiss, twinging again at the moan Anthony made into the kiss, quivering against him. Sören's arms tightened around him even more, Sören kissing Anthony deep and hard and hungry, as if he were claiming him.  
  
"I feel like an idiot for worrying so much," Anthony said. "I know these things happen. I just..."  
  
"Shhhh." Sören kissed him again. And again. "I worried you were going to think something was wrong. I don't memorize phone numbers, I don't have your e-mail, and with me working overnight last night and being so bloody exhausted when I got home I didn't want to go back out and try to find my phone, and I felt terrible, I didn't want to upset you, but I didn't know what to do when I just needed to get to bed..."  
  
"Sören." Now Anthony was the one initiating the kiss. "It's all right. I'm not angry."  
  
Sören desperately needed some levity, overcome by emotion. Protectiveness. Wanting to be reassuring, nurturing. Falling in love with him all over again and those green eyes, the sensitive heart that he tried to shield from the world... "Hi Not Angry. I'm Sör-"  
  
Anthony kissed him harder, and swatted Sören's ass. Sören's cock jolted at that, and he felt his blood boil. Mad with lust, not thinking, Sören found himself getting on his knees and under Anthony's desk. Before either of them knew what was happening, Sören had Anthony's cock out, hard for him, and Sören looked up at him with hungry eyes, searching to make sure Anthony wanted this, was OK with it. Anthony grabbed Sören's curls, guiding his head towards his cock, and Sören's own cock throbbed in response. But before Sören could start sucking, he looked into Anthony's eyes and he finally said it. "I love you." Then his lips wrapped around Anthony's cock.  
  
Anthony gasped, shuddered, and he ground out, "I love you too, Sören."  
  
_Oh god, yes._ Yes. _YES..._ Sören's heart soared. He started sucking the cock in his mouth like he was starving for it, like his life depended on giving this man the best pleasure he could. "_Mmmmmmmmm_," Sören hummed, a happy noise at the truth being laid bare.  
  
Between Sören's hunger and passion, and Anthony's need, Anthony only lasted a few minutes. He was quieter than usual by virtue of being at work, only giving a little groan here and there, but when he came he let out that shuddery gasp Sören had heard him make during orgasm before, which Sören found incredibly sexy, especially with Anthony twitching, the rapture on his face as he gave in. Sören was turned on enough by sucking him, watching and listening to him come, tasting him, that as soon as Anthony was finished Sören took out his own cock and began to furiously masturbate right there, on his knees in Anthony's office. Sören came in record time, collecting the pooling seed into his shirt hem which was going to be washed anyway. Enough of his cum got on his hand that when he stopped shaking and needed to get up from the floor, Anthony paused him and licked and sucked Sören's hand clean, so sensually, with such heat in his eyes that Sören was tempted to take him on his desk.  
  
As hot as that thought was, Sören knew that Anthony _would_ get vocal and that was probably a bad idea, not to mention that the man probably didn't keep lube in his office. _But he should start keeping it... just in case._  
  
Anthony seemed to know exactly what Sören was thinking. "Sören, you're too tempting."  
  
"_Takk_. So are you." And then Sören pulled him close again, letting Anthony rest his head on him, rubbing Anthony's shoulders and upper back. "I should probably go before we get in trouble."  
  
Anthony patted him and looked up. "What are you doing tonight?"  
  
"Sleeping." Sören chuckled.  
  
"What are you doing before that? I'd like to come over."  
  
"Come... over... to _my_ place? In Bromley?" Sören was in disbelief. He lived in a studio, it wasn't terrible but it was small, small enough that he slept on a couch that folded out into a bed.  
  
Anthony nodded. "It would save you time, rather than having to pack an overnight bag and travel from your place to mine. We'd have more time, you'd get more rest."  
  
Sören took a deep breath. He was worried about Anthony seeing his tiny, somewhat shabby little place, but he nodded. "All right. If you truly don't mind -"  
  
"I want to see you." Their eyes held. "I miss you." Anthony reached up to stroke Sören's face. "I love you."  
  
Sören's heart soared again. As tired as he was, he could have done cartwheels around the entire chambers, screaming for joy, if it wouldn't make a scene. "I love you too."  
  
After Sören put his duster back on, Anthony walked him to the door of his office, stealing a kiss just before he opened the door. "I'll be there roughly around six."  
  
"OK."  
  
"What would you like to eat?"  
  
"You."  
  
Anthony laughed and turned pink, and Sören laughed too, before kissing the tip of his nose - Anthony was adorable when he was bashful, and it made Sören love him more. "Well, I made stew last night but if I don't have to eat the same thing two nights in a row... you mind bringing over fish and chips?"  
  
"No." Anthony gave him a hug. "I'll see you then, love."  
  
Sören was grinning from ear to ear on his way out. He tried to sober as he passed the receptionist, not wanting to give it away, but the grin came back as soon as he stepped outside.  
  
Sören didn't go straight home, stopping at one of the stores of his cell phone provider to buy a new phone and get his plan transferred to the new phone, complete with keeping the same number. He had to charge it up when he got in, and set about getting in his red plaid flannel pajamas and making the place tidy, once again feeling bad because of how spartan his place was, apart from some art on the walls. He'd come from Iceland to England with exactly one suitcase, almost all of that clothing, and moved into an efficiency where buying furniture wasn't necessary. He'd accumulated very little in the way of personal belongings since then save some art prints, his television and stereo, and art supplies, because he wasn't home all that much - his flat was a place to eat and sleep. And now...  
  
_I want a home. This isn't a home._ Sören swallowed hard.  
  
He heard Anthony come up the steps. "It's open," Sören yelled.  
  
Anthony walked in, bearing stargazer lilies with one hand and a bag from a chip shop with the other, with an overnight bag on the arm that carried the food. Sören ran to him to take the flowers, giving a squeak before giving Anthony a kiss. Then he went to put the flowers in Sprite and put on tea.  
  
"I'm really sorry," Sören said as he took his place beside Anthony on the couch. "My place is, ah. It's not much."  
  
"I came here for you," Anthony said.  
  
Nonetheless, Sören could see him looking around, taking it in, and thought he detected a hint of sadness.  
  
They ate together, curled up, watching a rerun of _Star Trek: The Next Generation_. It was nice to just _be_, and Sören smiled when Anthony started feeding Sören from his fingers like Sören was his pet. When they were done eating, Anthony pulled him close and pet Sören's curls, rubbed his back.  
  
"I have something for you," Anthony said.  
  
"Mmmm, I hope so." Sören looked up and gave him a naughty look.  
  
Anthony turned pink, laughed and rolled his eyes, and said, "That too, brat." He produced a business card from his wallet. "Here. That has my cell and my e-mail."  
  
"_Takk._ I bought a new phone, let me grab it..." Sören went to the kitchen space in the open plan studio to grab his phone off the charger. He also grabbed a bottle of beer for each of them. He groaned a little at the prospect of having to reprogram all his contacts, but for now he'd take care of this. He glanced at Anthony's business card and then his eyebrow went up at the C. ANTHONY HEWLETT-JOHNSON. "Oh, Anthony's a middle name?"  
  
"...Yes."  
  
Sören smirked. "What does the C stand for?"  
  
"Could You Not."  
  
"Oh, come on. I suck your cock, I fuck you in the arse -" Anthony turned beetroot at this. "And I can't know what your real first name is?" Sören started poking him. "Come on, tell me..."  
  
"Sören..."  
  
"It's not Sören. That starts with S, not C."  
  
"_Brat._"  
  
"Come on." Sören poked him harder, faster. "Tell me... tell me what the C stands for..."  
  
Anthony gave him a look.  
  
"C is for Cookie?"  
  
"NO," Anthony said with such commanding force that it made Sören almost spit his beer, finding Anthony's reaction ridiculous and delightful.  
  
"Cleopatra?"  
  
"_You're hilarious_." Anthony's eyes narrowed.  
  
"Crap? Cunnilingus? Cheese?"  
  
"Sören, I swear to _God_ -"  
  
"Right, it would be one of those poncy British names you lot have like Clive... Colin... Cedric..."  
  
"None of those names are poncy, Sören."  
  
"They're all poncy to people who aren't from England. Really, Anthony, I don't know why it's so bad you can't tell me..."  
  
"Fine." Anthony gave him another look. "It's Cornelius."  
  
"Corn-Cornelius." Sören felt his head snapping back, his lips quirking involuntarily. "Wh-what... kind of name is Cornelius -"  
  
"This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you, and why I go by my middle name."  
  
"Can I call you Corny? Or Corn?"

"The name is Latin for horn, actually."

That made it even worse. "OK then... so Horny?"  
  
Anthony glared.  
  
Sören leaned in and gave him a little kiss. "I'll stop if it bothers you. I just." He giggled into his beer. "You poor dear, I don't know how your parents could see a tiny baby and decide to name it _Cornelius_."  
  
"I don't either."  
  
Then Sören cocked his head to one side. "Do you go by Anthony all the time? Does anyone call you Tony?"  
  
"_Nobody_ calls me that."  
  
_I'll call you that once in awhile, and I'll get away with it._ "Tony's a damn sight better than Cornelius, though."  
  
And then Anthony gave him a look that let him know he wasn't quite as annoyed as he was acting - as if he enjoyed the challenge that Sören presented, a good sparring of wit. "You're not really in a position to make fun of anyone's name, considering your own resembles an IKEA product."  
  
Sören almost spat his beer. He howled and clapped appreciatively. Then he couldn't resist the troll impulse. "There are jokes about wood and inserting tab A into slot B here somewhere."  
  
Now Anthony lost it, laughing, heaving, turning pink. "_Goddammit, Sören_."  
  
They kissed, a sweet little kiss that deepened, heated. Soon they were making out on the couch, hands roaming. Anthony began to undo the buttons of Sören's pajama top, kissing and licking the exposed flesh. When his tongue lightly brushed a nipple, then lashed it, pebbling it, Sören shivered, gasped and cried out, bucking against him as his cock jolted and throbbed awake.  
  
"Tony," Sören teased, and then said, "Anthony," at the mock stern look he was given. "This is... this is it, for what I have for a bed. It folds out, but I'm cautious about testing it with, ah, more strenuous stuff. On the couch itself, it's fine."  
  
Anthony nodded. Sören once again got the sense that Anthony didn't know quite what to make of Sören's living situation, but the fact that he was willing to come here and spend the night at all said a lot. "Well, we can start on the couch, before you fold it out for the evening."  
  
"All right. I hope you've got condoms and lube with you, because I don't have either here."  
  
"I've got them, yes."  
  
They undressed, with Anthony folding his clothes neatly on the coffee table. Sören lay back on the couch and Anthony got him ready by sucking him, kneeling on the floor as Sören had knelt on the floor of his office. "I've been thinking about this since you left chambers," Anthony husked when he let Sören's cock slip from his mouth.  
  
"I've been thinking about... you, period." Sören swallowed hard, feeling that tight ache in his chest - a good ache. "About us." He stroked Anthony's face, pet his hair. "I love you."  
  
"I love you too." Anthony sucked at the head of Sören's cock for a minute and then he rasped, "I really want to feel you."  
  
They got into a position where Anthony could ride Sören on the couch without falling. As Anthony straddled Sören's hips, Sören wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a kiss. Not breaking the kiss, Anthony sank down and they moaned together. When Sören bottomed out inside him they kissed harder, deeper, and Anthony whispered, "I love you."  
  
"I love you." Sören kissed him again. "I will never get tired of hearing it."  
  
"I will never get tired of saying it, or hearing you say it." Anthony began to ride, slowly. Sören's hands slid down from Anthony's back to his hips, guiding him. Sören watched his erect cock, feasted on the sight of his body, the look of lust on Anthony's face.  
  
Their mouths met again and again, tongues swirling, playing, teasing. Their hands slid over each other, caressing, rubbing, exploring and worshiping. Anthony kept the ride languid, the two of them savoring just connecting, being together. Sören was glad that they'd mutually be getting tested soon and could likely do away with barriers then, wanting nothing to come between them. In the meantime Sören pulled him closer, held him tighter, devoured him with his eyes, loved with his touch, his kiss. And at last Anthony was riding him harder and Sören grabbed his hips and started to thrust, putting him to work, pushing them both along to that point of no return. Sören played with Anthony's cock when he started to make those telltale noises of getting close, and when Anthony called out Sören's name, erupting over him, Sören came a few seconds later, hearing himself cry out, "Anthony, _ástin mín, ég elska þig_."  
  
Anthony kissed him hard - knowing somehow what those words meant. They kissed and kissed, and now Sören was crying, showing his own vulnerability in that moment of truth. Sören pulled him close and rocked him, still inside him.  
  
After they rested for a few minutes they got up and Sören dispensed with the used condom, folded out the bed, made it up, Sören hit the lights, and after brushing teeth they got in, with Sören setting the alarm for five in the morning for both of them. Sören left a light on in the bathroom to provide them with a little bit of light in case they needed it - and because it was nice to have some light when they weren't going to sleep just yet. Sören and Anthony began kissing again as soon as Sören snuggled up next to him, and Sören smiled as he felt Anthony's hand reaching down to the stiffening cock.  
  
The covers got peeled back as they settled into a sixty-nine, laying at each other's sides. With the urgency of mutually craving a fuck gone, they could take it slower now, sucking sweetly, lovingly. As they edged towards orgasm they were hungrier, Sören rubbing his tongue as he sucked, rewarded with Anthony doing the same. They came together, taking each other's hands as they spilled into each other's mouths, and never had it felt so intimate. When Sören came up to kiss him, petting, nuzzling, Sören felt that it was one of the most beautiful moments of his life. Their love confession that afternoon had been under imperfect circumstances with Sören losing his phone, Anthony had ended up coming over out of the imperfect circumstances of that, and Sören's flat was imperfect, not a home. And yet it was all perfect in its imperfections, accidents coming together to make something wonderful and real.  
  
For the first time in a long time, years, well before the rape in Iceland, his sister's murder, Sören felt a return of the optimism he'd felt as a new med student. That life was an adventure again.  
  
They tangled up together, holding each other, legs entwined.  
  
"I like holding you," Anthony said. He'd said it before, but Sören never got tired of it.  
  
"I love it." Sören sighed and snuggled closer, deeper. "I wish we could do this more often."  
  
"Me too."  
  
For a brief, flittering instant Sören thought about broaching the subject of them living together, but they'd been dating barely three weeks and it was way too soon for that - saying "I love you" might not scare Anthony away but Sören had a feeling asking to move in just might. But the ache was there, and it would solve the problem of wanting to see each other more often... a lost phone wouldn't potentially be such a disaster if they were under the same roof.  
  
The fact that he already felt like this - so sure, so _right_... Sören felt the tears about to come on again. Sören needed to calm down, so he went to his default coping mechanism, humor. "I love you, Corn."  
  
"I love you, IKEA."


	7. Flesh Of My Flesh

It was Thursday, December fifteenth. Sören and Anthony had spent the late afternoon and most of the evening together at Anthony's flat, and after a passionate romp they were showering together before Sören had to go in for an overnight shift. Sören didn't want to go, but at least they'd have Friday night, all of Saturday, and part of Sunday to be with each other.  
  
They lingered in the shower, holding each other under the spray, kissing. Though they'd made love to several orgasms earlier, they were hard for each other again, hard cocks sliding together as they kissed. At last Anthony pushed Sören back against the shower wall, took them both into his hand and stroked them, kissing more deeply and insistently than before, and a few minutes later Sören came with a cry, Anthony with a deep groan.  
  
Toweling off and getting changed, in the bedroom, Sören and Anthony kept looking regretfully at the clock, the calendar, each other.  
  
"Can I make you some tea before you go?" Anthony asked.  
  
"I have a routine of getting coffee with Colin at the hospital cafe before our overnight shift starts. Usually I'd say yes to the extra caffeine but I'm more keyed up than usual so that's a bad idea." Sören pursed his lips.  
  
"I know the overnight shifts are rough." Anthony gave him a sympathetic frown and a ruffle of Sören's damp curls.  
  
"It's not just that. It's... what happens when I get off work tomorrow."  
  
Anthony and Sören had mutually went to a clinic for a battery of tests earlier that week, and they had an appointment to go in tomorrow afternoon, once they were both done with work, and get their test results. If it was all clear, they were going to stop using condoms. Sören was on the one hand very eager to bareback with the man he loved, on the other hand he had anxiety about his own test results.  
  
"I'm sure we're both fine," Anthony said.  
  
Sören nodded. "You're probably right. It's... you know me. Doctor. Force of habit."  
  
The studied look Anthony gave him told Sören that Anthony suspected there might be more to the worry than Sören being a doctor - and indeed there was, though Sören had yet to tell him about what happened in Reykjavik. Anthony wisely changed the subject, sensing Sören's discomfort. "I'm honestly more worried about it being Christmas next week than I am about our test results," Anthony said.  
  
"Oh god." Sören facepalmed. He hadn't even been thinking about the impending holidays, even as reminders of them were everywhere and Christmas had been such a big deal in Iceland. "Oh god, how is that here already."  
  
"_Exactly._" Anthony looked at Sören. "I have to clear some time for Christmas shopping."  
  
"Ugh... oh no, I do too, don't I?" Sören had no idea what to get the guy who had everything.  
  
Anthony tilted his head to one side. "Sören, what are your plans for the holiday? Besides working. Did you want to go back to Iceland -"  
  
"_No._" The word came out more forcefully than Sören intended, and Anthony looked a little taken aback. Sören quickly added, "Sorry. It's..." He took a deep breath. "Please don't ask me anymore if I want to visit Iceland. I'll never say never to a return visit, but it's not anything that I'm keen on doing for awhile."  
  
Anthony nodded, and then he gave Sören a look that Sören imagined people in the courtroom saw plenty of, like a predatory cat about to spring its prey. "Sören... it's not just because your sister was murdered, was it? There's another reason why -"  
  
"There is." Sören nodded. "I don't want to talk about it right now, if it's all the same to you."  
  
"All right."  
  
Sören went back to the subject of Christmas. "My plans for the holiday involve you, when I'm not working, if that's OK with you."  
  
"That's more than OK with me. I was about to tell you..." Anthony went from courtroom predator to looking almost bashful. "I told Mum and Dad about you, and they have issued an invitation for us to go over for Christmas dinner, 'Christmas dinner' being a flexible term since they know your hours may be crazy -"  
  
"I work overnight on the twenty-fourth, but I'd like to get together with you before that, and then I have the afternoon and evening of the twenty-fifth and all of the twenty-sixth free. Amazingly."  
  
"Good. That works out well, I can bring you by to meet the parents on Christmas Day."  
  
Sören felt his anxiety kick up another notch, but it was balanced out by being touched and a bit tickled that Anthony had already mentioned him to his parents. "So, you really told them about me?"  
  
"I did. Usually I don't before a certain point in time because, well, my relationship history has been less than stellar, so I'd like to make sure things look promising before I introduce them." Their eyes met. "As soon as it might be, I have that feeling about you."  
  
Sören smiled. "So do I." His heart skipped a beat. He wondered if they'd be living together next Christmas. He wondered if they would, at some point, be married...  
  
_You've been dating this guy slightly less than a month and you want to get married. Calm the fuck down._  
  
Sören's anxiety came surging back. "Oh no, I have to get your parents something for Christmas too, don't I -"  
  
"No, you don't. The last few years, between the money I make and the kind of hours I work, where they know I don't have a huge amount of time for holiday shopping, my parents have told me to make a donation to charity in their names - "  
  
"Not a gift card, at least?"  
  
"Er, no."  
  
And Sören once again realized that Anthony was from the sort of background where that wasn't a thing people did.  
  
"They won't expect anything from you," Anthony added.  
  
Sören still didn't want to show up empty-handed if he was a guest in their home, but not being able to get away with gift cards put him at a loss. Sören scratched his beard.  
  
"That leads me to ask you, what do _you_ want for Christmas?" Anthony poked his nose, making Sören grin. "I'd be happy to make some time to get something for you." A wry smile. "I have an appointment to get waxed, anyway, I'll be near some shops -"  
  
Sören laughed. He'd assumed Anthony did some manscaping the first time he'd seen the man naked, but this was the first Anthony had explicitly admitted that he did, in fact, get waxed. "So that's a thing, then."  
  
"That's a thing I do, yes. If I don't I get rather hairy, which is something I was teased about, and, ah." Anthony flushed slightly. "There's a certain expectation, with bottoms, to look a particular way..."  
  
Sören fought back a small frown. He thought Anthony was sexy as hell, of course, he couldn't get enough of him - he'd like to take at least a week off and spend most of that time in bed - but he had a weakness for pelted men and the thought of Anthony with a healthy growth of chest hair, hair on his arms and legs... _oh fuck, that's delicious._ A shiver went down Sören's spine. He was torn between wanting to encourage Anthony to let his fur grow, and not wanting Anthony to feel like the way he was now, whether it was a genuine preference or not, was somehow inadequate, that Sören found him less sexy than men with body hair.  
  
But what he could address was something else nagging at him. "Anthony, this is a personal question and feel free to answer if it makes you uncomfortable -"  
  
"Sören, I ask uncomfortable questions for a living, and we're intimate enough that I assure you whatever you ask me probably won't be too invasive."  
  
"All right." Sören took a deep breath. "You have a very dominant personality, why are you a bottom?" Then Sören realized how that came out and said, "Mind you, I'm versatile..." And Sören hadn't bottomed since what happened in Reykjavik - he hadn't had sex with anyone, period, Anthony being his first time after that experience. "So it's not exactly that I mind. I'm just curious. And I mean besides the obvious that it feels good - I know that. Prostate orgasms are wonderful." Sören's hole twitched then - the thought of Anthony fucking him, making him come that way... _Don't get yourself all worked up again before you have to go into hell. You already had six orgasms tonight._  
  
"Well, honestly? Being really, really honest? My own _true_ preference is probably closer to versatility. The thing is... I like passion. I'm a power bottom, but I'm also a power _top_, when I do. And it's been my experience that a lot of queer men, or at least the ones who I would deem suitable as partners - guys who take care of themselves, who have some ability to communicate effectively in English - well, the bottoms tend to be what the gay community calls 'pillow princesses'. You've probably seen it yourself. They lay there and they get off, and the top does all the work, like the bottom is just entitled."  
  
"I have been there myself, yes. Actually..." Sören chuckled. "That's why I usually bottom, too. Well, before now. Because you're right. It's boring."  
  
"It's even more boring when I want to see someone completely fucking lose control. I like to make love and be sensual, but I also like to _fuck_, to rut like an animal, as nature intended."  
  
Sören was getting horny again. It was one thing that could be said about sex with Anthony - he was very passionate, like fucking a force of nature. Passion met passion, fire met fire. Sören loved it. _Down, boy,_ Sören told his cock.  
  
"I like fuck too," Sören heard himself blurt out, and then he facepalmed, realizing that in his horniness he'd mangled his English. "Er. I like _to_ fuck -"  
  
Anthony lost it, shaking with silent laughter. "Sören, I love you."  
  
"I love you too, you shit." Sören gave him a playful swat. "I'm sorry. My English got all -"  
  
"Yes." Anthony leered. "Good."  
  
Flustered, randy, Sören had a gigglefit at his slip-up. "I like fuck, já."  
  
"I like that you like fuck, IKEA."  
  
"Fuck you, Muhammad Ali."  
  
When they calmed down, Anthony went on, "So, it's easier to get the sort of reaction I want from a top. It's rare to find a bottom who can take what I want to give and give that passion right back, who can keep up with me, who isn't going to lay there like a fucking prima donna, who will unleash just as much as I do."  
  
Sören shuddered. Yes, he definitely wanted Anthony to take him.  
  
"You," Anthony said, meeting Sören's eyes, "are an absolute beast. You make me come harder than I ever have, with someone. But I don't assume someone is the same way as a bottom, as they are as a top. I am, but many people aren't, if I even find someone who's vers to begin with."  
  
"I'm no pillow princess," Sören said. He chuckled. "I've been told I'm a good ride."  
  
"Good, I'd like to take you on... a test drive."  
  
Sören grinned. "I think that can be arranged."  
  
"I would have asked before now but you were so nervous the first night you were here that I thought I needed to tread carefully."  
  
Sören nodded, sobering. "You weren't wrong."  
  
Anthony gave him a pointed look, but Sören wasn't ready to tell him about what happened in Reykjavik. Not just yet. Soon. Probably very soon.  
  
Once again Anthony knew to change the subject. "And _you_ evaded the topic of what you want for Christmas, my dear."  
  
"I don't even know," Sören said truthfully. "Surprise me. Just..." Sören narrowed his eyes. "Don't pull another stunt like what you did for my birthday. I know money isn't a big deal to you, but I'm still self-conscious about you going to that kind of expense so soon after you went all out for my birthday."  
  
"Fair," Anthony said. "Causing you discomfort would be the opposite of a gift. I _do_ want to spoil you, but I can take some time before doing so again."  
  
"Good." Sören scowled to show he meant business. "Don't spend more than a hundred quid on whatever you're getting me."  
  
Anthony's laughter rang out. "Sören, that's nothing -"  
  
"Oh believe me, where I come from, it's not nothing." Sören swallowed hard, remembering weeks of having French toast for dinner two nights in a row because bread, eggs and milk was all his guardians kept in the house when they were low on money and drinking too much to go to the store, and it fell on Sören or Margrét to cook or they didn't eat.  
  
"OK. Well, don't spend more than a hundred quid on me, then, either. And a gift card is fine, if -"  
  
Sören got the sense Anthony would still find that tacky. "I'll think of something." He watched Anthony pull on a sweater, and he got the seed of an idea, one that he could make work if he put a particular spin on it.  
  
"All right." Then Anthony smirked. "You've got a tent in your scrubs."  
  
Sören flushed. "I was trying to calm down, but our topic of discussion..."  
  
"Let me take care of it for you." Anthony patted to a space next to him on the bed.  
  
Sören lay back, and Anthony took Sören into his mouth. Sören grabbed Anthony's head and gently fucked his mouth, moaning, Anthony encouraging him along with "mmmmmm". It didn't take long for Sören to come, being feasted on that way, and he cried out Anthony's name when he climaxed, getting teared up not just from the shattering force of his release but from the sweetness of it, Anthony taking care of him so willingly, generously.  
  
Anthony swallowed and came up to kiss Sören, held him for a few minutes, knowing he was going to have to drive Sören to work very soon.  
  
"God, I wish I could just curl up with you and doze off," Sören mumbled.  
  
"I do too, but I understand why you can't." Anthony smoothed Sören's curls, kissed his brow.  
  
"I appreciate that you. You know. Wanted to."  
  
"I love pleasing you. I know what I said earlier makes it sound like a power trip, and yes, I get off on watching someone lose control to me, but it's... not just that." He stroked Sören's face. "You're beautiful when you come." He gave Sören a tender little kiss, his eyes soft. "There is nothing sexier in the world to me than those sweet brown eyes of yours, especially when you're in the throes of passion."  
  
Sören felt aflutter, and kissed Anthony back, choked up. "Awwwww..."  
  
Anthony kept stroking Sören's face, looking into his eyes. "What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life."  
  
"Wow. That's... beautiful."  
  
"Walt Whitman."  
  
Sören held Anthony tighter, loving him even more fiercely for appreciating poetry like he did, the sensitivity in him that could appreciate something so lovely. "I've never read Whitman. Sounds like I should."  
  
"He can be grandiose, over the top, but he's worth a read, yes." Anthony groaned at the time. "Right, on that note, we have to leave, right now."  
  
"Fuck."  
  
They were quiet on the ride down - Anthony had on the car stereo, listening to Jamiroquai, and Sören zoned out to the more mellow songs, a compromise to not being able to nap post-orgasm. It was nice, with good music, the car warm and cozy, someone he loved beside him, watching snowflakes falling in the night - Sören wished he could write poetry, capturing this moment somehow.  
  
They lingered in the hospital parking lot, and Anthony gave him a kiss goodbye.  
  
"I'll miss you." Anthony pet Sören's curls.  
  
"Me too. But we have most of this weekend, at least."  
  
Anthony took Sören's hand and kissed it, looking into his eyes again. Sören felt that giddy flutter and he said, "I still can't get over what you said about. You know. My eyes."  
  
Anthony cupped Sören's chin in his hand, stroking Sören's beard, and then he said, "Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly; Their beauty shakes me who was once serene; Straight through my heart the wound is quick and keen." His mouth moved closer to Sören's and he whispered, "Geoffrey Chaucer," before stealing a kiss.  
  
The kiss heated, both of them moaning into the kiss, and then Sören swatted him, laughing, tearing up, feeling like he could fly. "I'm really going now. I can't even with you, you beautiful bastard."  
  
Anthony smiled. "I love you too."  
  
Sören almost skipped on the way into the hospital.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören's shift ran over enough that he and Anthony went straight from National to the clinic without a stop for Sören to get changed first. Sören was tired enough from his shift that he dozed off a little in the car, not mentally spinning his wheels in anxiety like he thought he might do yesterday.  
  
The test results were all negative, which didn't really surprise Sören but he was relieved nonetheless. He also tried to keep his reaction neutral while they were in public, not wanting to give any indicator that he doubted even for a second there might be a slight possibility he had something.  
  
Sören continued to keep a poker face when they got back to Anthony's and Sören took a quick shower and got changed into something more suitable for them going out to dinner to celebrate negative test results and doing away with condoms. It was at the Thai restaurant when Sören's mask began to slip, not enough to make a scene, but enough that Anthony gave him a concerned look.  
  
"Long day," Sören said. _Long life._  
  
When they returned to Anthony's and were sitting on his couch together, Anthony cradling Sören's head to his chest, petting him, Anthony finally said, "Sören, what is it. Don't tell me 'long day' again, that's bullshit." He cupped Sören's chin and tilted Sören's face, making Sören look him in the eye.  
  
"Anthony, I have to tell you something." Sören swallowed hard. At the slight look of alarm in Anthony's eyes, Sören grabbed his arm and said, "No, don't worry, it's..." He didn't want Anthony to think something shady was going on. He took a deep breath then and said, "It's directly related to why I don't want to go back to Iceland."  
  
A slight nod. "I'll put on tea." Anthony patted Sören and got up.  
  
_You are so British it's painful._ It was also endearing, Sören giving Anthony a fond smile as he strode to the living room.  
  
Anthony came back with hot tea for both of them a short while later, which was cozy and comforting on a cold, snowy night like this, and after a few sips of tea, Sören put his mug down and said, "OK. I'll come right out with it." He looked into Anthony's eyes. "I was raped in Reykjavik, that's why I left."  
  
Anthony also put his tea down. He blinked slowly but otherwise didn't react. Not yet. He waited for Sören to go on.  
  
"To back up a bit," Sören said, "I... struggle with depression. The kind that's difficult to medicate properly. I went into medicine as a calling, after what happened with my mamma, but it's still a very hard line of work for me to be in, it's a hard profession for anyone whether they've got mental health issues or not. I tend to self-medicate different ways, and the last couple years I was living in Reykjavik, a form of cheap therapy for me was to go out dancing. There's something very... cathartic... about moving your body, letting loose to music. One night I accepted a drink from a stranger, and the next morning I woke up in an alley in Reykjavik and I still don't remember what happened, I only know that I woke up... used."  
  
"_Jesus._" Anthony winced as if he was in pain. "Sören." He grabbed Sören's hands, his voice husky with emotion. "Sören, I'm so sorry."  
  
"I couldn't prosecute because I don't know to this day who did it. And I ended up leaving because, well, in a city of two hundred thousand people, there is a non-zero chance I'm going to run into whoever it was, and there was possibly more than one of them, judging from the, ah... evidence." Sören also winced now. He reached for his tea and spent a moment drinking it, the heat of the tea warding off the cold numb shock of reliving that morning. "I haven't had sex with anyone since that time - you were the first. I used to be able to do casual sex without a problem, but." Sören sighed deeply. "Wasn't just that I've been afraid of strangers but I felt so fucking _dirty_, and I felt _stupid_, like I should have known better, but Iceland is such a safe, quiet country -"  
  
"Sören, it's not your fault." Anthony's eyes were stern but compassionate. "And you're not dirty. You're not damaged goods." Anthony's voice was husky again as he reached for Sören's face, stroked it, his eyes too bright. "I love you."  
  
Sören's jaw trembled, and he felt his eyes burn with tears that he hadn't shed about the situation in months - he'd been beaten out of crying for himself by his uncle Einar years ago, though he could cry for other people. Anthony took Sören's mug of tea out of his hands and put it down and he grabbed Sören and pulled him close, held him tight. He began to rock Sören back and forth, petting Sören's curls, letting Sören fall apart in his arms. Those arms always felt so safe and comforting but never had they felt more safe and comforting as they did then, Anthony his fortress against the terror of the world.  
  
"Shhhhhhh. I know it hurts, darling." Anthony continued to pet him, rock him. "You're in a safe place to let it out. It's OK."  
  
"I never told anyone," Sören sobbed. "I'm so ashamed -"  
  
"You have nothing to be ashamed of."  
  
Sören cried harder, and Anthony's arms tightened around him. Sören felt a telltale tremble against him and when he looked up Anthony was shedding quiet tears for him too, and Sören broke down even more, ugly crying, overcome that someone else would cry for him over this. Anthony pulled Sören's head towards him and began to kiss Sören's tears, his own tears still flowing, and then he crushed Sören to his chest again, Sören sobbing, wracked with grief and rage and regret but also the gratitude of being loved and accepted this way.  
  
Even though they'd had tea, it was late enough at night and Sören had at this point been awake for over twenty-four hours, that Anthony gently rubbed Sören's shoulder and said, "We should get some rest."  
  
Sören frowned. "I'm sorry. I know you wanted to get laid tonight -"  
  
"Sören, taking care of you is more important. You need to be held right now. Come to bed and let me hold you."  
  
After they got changed and washed up, they settled into bed together. Anthony pulled Sören back into his arms, held him tight, the blankets swaddling them like a living burrito. Sören continued to cry for awhile into Anthony's chest and then, drained, he lay there and Anthony continued rocking and petting him, making soothing noises.  
  
At last Sören looked up at him in the blue glow of the nightlight. "I'm... I'm glad you don't think less of me."  
  
"Only an arsehole would think less of you, Sören." Anthony kissed Sören's brow. "_I love you._ All of you. Including the hurt places. I believe you, and what happened to you wasn't your fault, I don't think less of you, I'm not repulsed by you." He stroked Sören's face again. "And I'm honored," he husked, "that I was your first after all of that. I don't know what it was that made you decide -"  
  
"It felt right," Sören said, looking into his eyes. "I felt like I could trust you."  
  
Anthony took Sören's face into his hands and gave him a sweet, lingering kiss. "I hope I never do anything to betray that trust." His arms wrapped around Sören again, tight, safe and warm. "Your heart is a precious gift. I feel as if the universe dropped a rare, magical artifact and it's been assigned to me to protect."  
  
"Oh Jesus." Sören started sobbing again, touched by that. "Dammit, Corn, I was using those feelings."  
  
Anthony chuckled with him, but there was a note of sadness in it, still haunted from Sören's confession. "Yes, it was a secret IKEA product..."  
  
Sören gave him a playful swat, and then kissed his cheek, smiling through his tears. "I love you, you know."  
  
"I do know." Anthony kissed him back. "I love you. And now you need to get some sleep." He put Sören's head back on his chest and started rubbing Sören's head, giving him a scalp massage that helped calm him down and roll the tension out of him. Their legs braided together and after a few minutes, Sören felt the ache leave his body and he faded into the night.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Anthony was up before Sören late Saturday morning - Sören cringed when he realized he'd been exhausted enough to sleep through the alarm, and Anthony had likely been up since the alarm went off which meant he hadn't gotten all that much sleep.  
  
Anthony put on tea when he saw Sören putter out to the living room. Sören sat on the couch and put on the TV; Anthony was at his desk, his laptop open, a stack of paperwork. Anthony looked rumpled and sexy still in pajamas, hair disheveled from sleep, and he was actually wearing wire-rimmed glasses instead of his usual contacts. Sören thought Anthony in glasses was the hottest thing alive, and he kept stealing glances over at the desk as he began to wake up. Anthony was type A enough to be engrossed in what he was doing the first several times Sören stared at him, but finally he caught Sören looking and said, with a shy smile, "What?"  
  
"You're so fucking cute. That's what."  
  
Anthony blushed. "I am not cute, Sören."  
  
"Hi Not Cute -"  
  
Anthony gave him a look, but then he smiled, letting Sören know he wasn't nearly as annoyed as he pretended to be.  
  
Sören felt hungover even though he'd had not a drop of alcohol yesterday - it was the familiar feeling of exhaustion and bodily achiness that always came after a big teary catharsis. He stretched out on the couch, not really paying attention to the TV, lost in that nebulous space of half-awake, until Anthony got up from his desk and stretched.  
  
"You know," Anthony told him, "you can make yourself at home here. I don't care if you want to look around." He gestured at his collections of music, books, DVDs.  
  
"Oh. I mean, I... I don't want to intrude by going through your stuff..."  
  
"You're not."  
  
After a few minutes of reservation Sören got up and went over to Anthony's books. He noticed there was a series of hardcover books tucked behind a row of classics, and, taking Anthony at his word that he wasn't intruding, he reached out for one of the hidden hardcovers, curious. His laughter rang out when he pulled it up and saw what it was, delighted.  
  
Anthony gave him a look and then he facepalmed when he saw Sören had found _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_.  
  
Sören had a suspicion about the others, and he was right. "Why are you hiding these?"  
  
"Because I'm thirty-one going on thirty-two."  
  
"So?" Sören shrugged. "I like _Harry Potter_. There's nothing wrong with that. No such thing as too old to like it."  
  
"I suppose not, but..." Anthony gave a small frown. "There are people in my profession who would disagree with you."  
  
"And they can go fuck themselves with that stick up their arse."  
  
Anthony shook with laughter, turning red. "God, Sören..."  
  
"This is great, I have someone to geek out with." Sören clapped excitedly. "What House are you in?"  
  
"Guess," Anthony said, sitting back in his chair, a look of amusement on his face.  
  
Sören took a moment, stroking his beard, and then he said, "You want the world to think you're a Slytherin, but you're actually a Ravenclaw."  
  
"I hate how accurate that is."  
  
Sören grinned and clapped again like an excited big kid. "OK, do me."  
  
Anthony leered, and Sören snorted, and then Anthony said, without hesitation, "Sören, you are so Gryffindor someone should sit on you."  
  
"Yes." Sören nodded. Now it was his turn to leer. "Someone should."  
  
Anthony blushed again, and Sören gave him a wicked grin. Anthony cleared his throat loudly, adjusting in his chair - Sören knew exactly where his mind was going, and then, after a moment of innocent whistling that wasn't innocent at all, Anthony said, "Well, I know it's been out for months now but part two of _Deathly Hallows_ is still playing if you want to go see it?"  
  
"I would. I actually haven't seen it yet."  
  
Anthony looked aghast.  
  
"You see how many hours I work?" Sören shrugged. "Going to the cinema isn't something I get to do often."  
  
"All right. Well... I'm just about done here -"  
  
"Hi Just About Done Here -"  
  
Anthony glared, Sören stuck out his tongue, and then Anthony said, "10 points from Gryffindor. I'm just about done here, so if you want to start getting ready, we can go see the movie, grab something to eat... then come back here, and, ah... we can show each other our wands, if you're up for that."  
  
"I'm _up_ for that, yes."  
  
"Hi Up For That."  
  
"Jæja, fuck you," Sören laughed, grinning as he shuffled off.  
  
When they were ready - Anthony in a dark blue cashmere sweater and jeans, Sören in a red plaid flannel shirt over a black turtleneck and faded jeans, Anthony in a wool greatcoat and Sören in his black leather duster - they went to the cinema together. It was lightly snowing again, and Sören liked seeing the snowflakes dust Anthony's hair and coat, which made him look almost regal. He wished that for once Anthony would forego the contacts and wear glasses in public - Sören's blood boiled recalling how delicious he looked that morning - but he understood the self-consciousness about it and didn't press it, and Anthony was still gorgeous to him. Sören felt that warm glow of pride at the handsome man on his arm as they waited in the queue for tickets.  
  
Inside the theater room showing the movie, it had been out long enough that even on a Saturday afternoon there weren't very many people in the theater. Sören and Anthony had been affectionate in public before, within bounds of decorum, but now they were more uninhibited, snuggling together, and during the more difficult scenes Anthony reached out to touch Sören, assuring, comforting. The proximity and the touch got Sören's libido stirring again, and Sören fought back the urge to get on his knees and suck him off right there, not wanting them to get arrested for public indecency. The thought was on his mind as they went out for an early dinner, continuing to touch, flirt, tease. playing footsie under the table, and Sören's thoughts were racing with desire all the way back to Anthony's flat.  
  
They wasted no time getting undressed and in the shower, kissing hungrily, caressing, playing with each other's hard cocks. Anthony led Sören to the bed, and when they were on the bed together they just lay there for a moment, looking at each other, aware of the gravity of what they were about to do, having unprotected sex for the first time. It was an act of commitment, of trust, of deeper intimacy.  
  
Anthony was the one to reach out first, to pull Sören into a kiss. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do -"  
  
"I want to do... everything..." Sören said, his voice raspy with want, "but we'll start with what we're used to, tonight, if that's OK." He wanted to mentally prepare himself just a little more for being taken, though he was very close to being ready.  
  
"That's... more than OK," Anthony husked, and kissed Sören again.  
  
Sören grinned. "So you said I'm so Gryffindor someone should sit on me, já?"  
  
Anthony grinned back. "Hi So Gryffindor Someone Should -"  
  
Sören grabbed Anthony and kissed him hard, with a growl, and then Sören heard himself moan into the kiss as Anthony's hand wrapped around Sören's cock, stroking it slowly, teasing. A few deep, fierce kisses later, and Anthony stopped playing with Sören's cock, and, his face deadly serious, he rose up, and maneuvered to sit on Sören's face. Then he leaned over Sören's body and took Sören's cock into his mouth, sucking him hard as Sören's tongue slipped inside Anthony and Sören ate him with even more hunger and passion than usual, wanting to get his lover _very_ ready and willing for the step they were about to take, because Sören knew once he was in Anthony completely bare, the beast in him was going to come out even more than usual.  
  
He also wanted to make it very, very good for him, expressing his love with his tongue swirling, dancing, lashing, rubbing, love especially for the acceptance and tenderness of last night. He always loved doing this to Anthony - he was getting harder and harder at the noises Anthony made with his mouth full, enjoying what Sören was doing to him - but tonight he was especially into it, wanting this to be a night to remember. Anthony got more and more vocal as Sören feasted, and at last Anthony rolled off, panting, "That's too good, Sören. I want to come with you inside me."  
  
Sören shuddered at that. He slapped his upper thighs, a "come here" gesture. Anthony grabbed the lube and settled over Sören, leaning down to kiss him, as Sören slicked his fingers and began to work them inside, and Anthony poured lube over Sören's cock, stroking slowly, teasing it. The kisses deepened, fire calling to fire. Sören's body was screaming for release, but even more than that the need to mate, to join, to give and to take, to _fuck_.  
  
Anthony straddled him and sank down slowly. When Sören bottomed out in him their eyes locked and Anthony's breath came out in a gasp, and so did Sören's. They took each other's hands, feeling that sense of wonder that they were, truly, one flesh now.  
  
Anthony started to ride, and Sören rolled his hips, rocking into him, grabbing Anthony's hips to steady him. They kept the pace just fast enough at first to get a good rhythm going - Anthony cried out as he felt the bead of Sören's piercing for the first time with no barrier. "Oh, _fuck._ Sören. _Sören._" He shivered. "Oh my _god_, that ring."  
  
"That's why I got it done."  
  
"_Jesus._" Anthony rode a little harder. "Sören. Oh _god._" He shivered again.  
  
Sören was delighted he liked it that much, even moreso when he began to thrust harder, faster, and Anthony's moans got louder, panting for it, Anthony's hips and ass working harder on top of him, matching Sören's rhythm. Sören loved watching Anthony ride him, his cock going in and out of him, Anthony's own hardness, leaking precum, the fluid grace of him astride Sören's hips, the look of lust on his face. Sören got lost in the silken heat wrapped around him, the moans, that place of sensation and desire that felt like the only place that existed, nothing else mattered.  
  
And at last the beast came out, grabbing Anthony's hips harder and driving into him, Anthony holding on tight and bouncing away, giving back as good as he got, making the most delicious grunts and groans, threatening to bring Sören off with each one. Sören finally seized Anthony's cock and stroked it in time to their fuck, and when he could feel Anthony's thighs quivering, saw that desperate look in his eyes, Sören ground out, "Come for me."  
  
Anthony went off like a rocket, calling Sören's name again and again as he shot over Sören's stomach and chest. Sören climaxed a few seconds later, his orgasm even more intense than usual as he felt Anthony's passage squeezing him, pulsing, even more delicious with nothing in the way. "OH, _fuck._" Sören gasped for breath. "Anthony. _Ó guð, elskan ástin mín, það er svo fokking gott..._"  
  
Anthony chuckled. "Brilliant, I made you lose your English."  
  
"_Þú lést mig missa helvítis fokking hugann._"  
  
Anthony came down and rested in Sören's arms for a few moments, the two nuzzling and petting, and then Anthony looked into Sören's eyes and asked, "Again?"  
  
They rolled so Anthony was laying on his back, Sören still inside him, already hardening up again. Sören hooked one of Anthony's legs around his waist and began to thrust, more slowly than before. Slow, sensual, teasing, loving. Anthony wrapped his arms around Sören and they kissed again and again, savoring that feeling of being joined, connected, truly making love with nothing between them.  
  
But soon enough the hunger rose again and Anthony grabbed Sören and worked his hips, urging Sören on harder, faster, and Sören gave him what he wanted, pounding Anthony into the mattress, balls slapping wildly, Sören hearing animal grunts and growls come out of himself as he drove with single-minded, blazing need, Anthony's cries and gasps, urgently clutching him, nails digging into him, stoking Sören's fire hotter, brighter, until it consumed them both, Anthony letting out a sob as his orgasm tore through him, coming all over Sören, his channel grasping Sören's cock and working Sören into a wrenching, so-good-it-almost-hurt climax of his own.  
  
"Sören," Anthony called out as he shuddered, twitched, still throbbing around him. "Sören, my love."  
  
Sören grabbed Anthony's face and kissed him with all the fire in him, heart soaring in the flames like the phoenix on his back. "I love you," Sören ground out, and kissed him again.  
  
"That piercing is going to be the death of me." Anthony laughed and cried, wiping his eyes. "God, I came my brains out."  
  
Sören kissed the tip of his nose, grinning. They rubbed noses and now it was Sören's turn to lay in Anthony's arms, sinking into glowing bliss after the blinding glory of his release.  
  
At some point Sören slipped out of him, and Anthony made a little noise of protest. Sören, dazed and dozing a little, snapped back to wakefulness at the sound Anthony made.  
  
"You want to go again?" Sören asked.  
  
Anthony nodded, looking so eager and boyishly exuberant that it made Sören laugh. As powerful as his two orgasms had been and he could have gone for a nap, his cock woke right up again as Anthony grabbed him and pulled him close.  
  
But Sören wasn't going to indulge him immediately. Once again, Sören wanted to shower Anthony with love, appreciation. He spent a long time kissing and licking Anthony all over, fingers wandering, brushing, exploring and teasing. He'd learned Anthony's body pretty well over the last few weeks, paid attention to where his erogenous zones were - though all of him was sensitive - and Sören focused on his nipples, the rest of his chest, hips, stomach, inner thighs. There was a place on the left side of Anthony's stomach, lower, where if Sören's hand touched it or he kissed there, it made Anthony buck and make a primal, guttural noise, and Sören loved that, giving it special treatment now, until Anthony's eyes were glazed over and he was making inhuman noises, precum flowing down his shaft.  
  
Sören's tongue chased the precum, and he sucked Anthony's cock for a couple minutes, fingers slipping between Anthony's legs, lower, playing around the rim of his opening. When Sören's mouth left Anthony's cock he surveyed his handiwork, groaning at the utterly debauched sight of Anthony full of his seed, leaking out onto the expensive silk sheets. Sören split Anthony like a peach and pushed his tongue inside, Sören's cock getting even harder at the depravity of eating his own cum out of another man. Anthony grabbed Sören's head, pulled his curls, and gently fucked himself on Sören's tongue, lashing away, then less gently as Sören began to devour him, shaking his head, tongue like a hurricane.  
  
Sören lapped up more precum before he came up, and this time he grabbed Anthony's legs and wrapped them around his waist. Anthony clutched at Sören and took it, wanting Sören to unleash, and Sören gave in to yet another hard, wild, primal fuck, loving it, completely lost and given over to pleasure and desire. They came together this time, and kissed through their orgasm, drinking each other's cries.  
  
They both ended up falling asleep after that, completely shattered. A couple hours later Sören woke up, and Anthony did too, and they held each other, watching the snow fall over the Thames in the glow of London lit up at night, before falling back asleep.  
  
Around three AM, two hours before Anthony's alarm was set to go off, Anthony got up, went to the bathroom, trying not to wake Sören, but Sören woke anyway, and found himself randy again, casually stroking himself as he waited for Anthony to return. Anthony had the same idea, going hard at the sight of Sören propped up on one elbow, cock out and ready to play.  
  
Anthony got back in bed and after a few minutes of kissing and petting, Sören husked, "I want you inside me."  
  
Anthony blinked slowly. "Oh. OK." He stroked Sören's face. "Are you sure? I don't want you to feel pressured -"  
  
Sören grabbed him and kissed him harder. "I want to do this." Their eyes met. "I _need_ to do this." Sören pulled Anthony closer. "I need _you._"  
  
As hard as they both were, Anthony wasn't going to give Sören what he wanted right away, paying Sören back for his earlier teasing by lavishing the same love on Sören's body, kissing and licking and nibbling and caressing. Anthony had found out to his delight that Sören's pierced nipples were hard-wired to his cock, and he spent awhile going back and forth between them, rubbing, rolling, pinching and plucking one while he lapped, suckled, bit the other, teasing them into aching peaks. Anthony licking Sören's stomach almost brought Sören off right then, and again when Anthony nibbled on Sören's thighs and sucked at them. Sören knew he would have love bites there later, and he shivered, loving the way his lover claimed him.  
  
What he loved even more was when Anthony licked around the rim of Sören's opening in slow, lazy circles, teasing him. Their eyes met and Anthony said, "I love you."  
  
"I love you."  
  
"Let me kiss it better, sweetheart."  
  
Anthony's tongue had been in Sören before, but it was even more loving and deliberate now, like Anthony was taking special care of him now that he knew what had happened. The sweetness of it got Sören choked up, tears misting his eyes. It also felt wonderful, Anthony's tongue reminding him how good prostate stimulation was, making him crave more, to be filled even more completely.  
  
At last Sören begged, "Please. Take me."  
  
Anthony came up, readied them both, and kissed Sören as he began to push inside, slowly. It had been well over a year and a half since Sören had been penetrated and he was tight. Sören winced at the pinching, burning, and Anthony watched him with concern. "Keep going," Sören told him. "I need to do this."  
  
Sören pushed out as Anthony continued to push in, and at last Anthony was all the way in him and they both gasped, their breath shaking as Anthony lay there for a moment, giving Sören a chance to adjust.  
  
When Anthony began to thrust it was slow, gentle, holding Sören's hand with one hand, stroking his face with the other, looking into Sören's eyes, watching him. After a few thrusts Sören gasped and Anthony asked, "Are you OK?"  
  
"Oh _god._" He'd found that spot. "Oh, _fuuuuuuck._"  
  
Anthony smiled, kissed Sören, and continued to thrust. Soon Anthony's groans were following Sören's moans.  
  
The silken rhythm on that sweet spot inside him and Sören was in tears of joy. He'd enjoyed being penetrated before everything had happened but this was something else entirely, Anthony making slow, deliberate love to him, wanting to please him, wanting to make it right. Sören's moans and sighs filled the room, and soon Sören was panting, gasping, rolling his hips back at Anthony, matching him thrust for thrust. "More," Sören breathed. "Oh god, more, please, more..."  
  
That word was like kryptonite to his lover. Anthony went a little harder and faster and Sören grabbed Anthony's hips and continued to rock back against him. Soon Sören was clawing Anthony's back, bucking away underneath him, shouting "More, more, harder, faster, fuck me, _fuck me_..."  
  
"You sure, love?"  
  
He was trying _so_ valiantly to be a gentleman about this. Sören kissed him hard and growled, "Fucking fuck me, I can take it. I need this. I need it. _More._"  
  
Anthony drove into him, and the rubbing-rubbing-rubbing on his prostate sent Sören into a frenzy, writhing, howling, begging for more, lost completely in lust at his lover giving into his own need, fucking him as hard as he'd advertised claiming to be a power top. Together they unleashed, and with each thrust, each kiss, Sören felt like Anthony's cock was driving away ghosts, demons, everything haunting him, lingering and feeling unclean. The fire that burned through them both cleansed, purified, hallowed, a sexual rebirth, Sören's body coming alive again, singing for joy.  
  
"More, more, more, _more_, oh god, don't stop, don't you fucking _stop_, more..."  
  
"Sören." Anthony's voice was a growl. "Oh, Sören..."  
  
"Oh, god. More. Please. More." Sören shuddered, whimpered. "I'm so close so close soclosesoclose -"  
  
A couple of minutes later that felt like an eternity, Sören's body trembling, bearing down, ready to spring, and he climaxed, howling as his cock sprayed the both of them. Anthony grabbed Sören two thrusts later and called out his name, and the feel of Anthony quivering against him as heat flooded inside him made Sören let out another arc of cum with a deep groan.  
  
Sören started to cry, overcome by the magic of what just happened, and Anthony cried with him. They held each other, crying, rocking, at last just kissing. "I love you," Anthony said between fierce, passionate kisses. "You did it. I'm so proud of you -"  
  
"Hi, So Proud Of You."  
  
Anthony swatted Sören.  
  
"Thank you," Sören said, holding him tight. "Oh god, thank you."  
  
They kissed some more, and the kissing got them hard again. Sören shoved Anthony onto his back, Anthony chuckling and Sören giggling. Anthony took Sören's hands as Sören got into position, straddling Anthony's hips. Now it was Sören's turn to ride, putting his money where his mouth was about being a good ride, bouncing wild and free, Anthony grabbing Sören and giving it to him as hard as Sören could take it, Sören riding him like he was a bull.  
  
"You weren't kidding," Anthony rasped a few minutes into their fuck.  
  
"No, I wasn't."  
  
"_God,_ I love you."  
  
"I love you." Sören let out a moan. "And I love your cock."  
  
"It certainly loves you, let me tell you."  
  
Sören rode and rode, bucking furiously, not able to get enough. They hung on that edge as long as possible, not wanting it to be over, both of them needing this as badly as they'd needed anything. But at last Sören couldn't hold back anymore and threw back his head and screamed when his orgasm erupted, and a minute later Anthony made a wild animal noise as he shot another load into Sören, just before Sören collapsed on top of him, into his waiting arms.  
  
"Oh god." Sören was sobbing again. "Oh my fucking _god_, that was good."  
  
"I love you." Anthony held him tight, rocked him. "Dear god, I love you."  
  
They tangled up together, napping off and on, until Anthony's alarm went off. "Fuck it," Anthony said, not getting up, arms tightening around Sören, who giggled before they went back to sleep.  
  
They did have to get up in time for Anthony to bring Sören to work late that morning. Sören was only scheduled to work eight hours today, 11 AM to 7 PM, and had plans to return to Anthony's flat that evening. They had a furious, feverish makeout session in the parking lot of National before Anthony swatted Sören and commanded, "Go, before I don't let you leave," and Sören stepped out of the Audi and gave Anthony a sassy butt wiggle on his way out.  
  
Sören was walking a little funny and moving gingerly during his shift, which Colin finally raised an eyebrow at and got a guilty grin from Sören, making Colin facepalm, laughing, "Jesus Christ, mate."  
  
Sören was in reasonably good spirits during his shift, that sated, glowy feeling lasting throughout the day. But when Anthony came by to pick him up in the evening, the hunger returned, no longer sated, needing more.  
  
Anthony was insisting on feeding him first. Sören was still in scrubs but Anthony didn't seem to mind, wanting to make sure Sören was taken care of. The drive to a restaurant in the snow was relaxing, moreso with Anthony playing jazz on the car stereo. Sören looked up at the last quarter moon shining on them just as Billie Holiday began to sing, and Anthony turned the music up, giving Sören a sweet, wistful look as he did.  
  
_I wished on the moon, for something I never knew  
I wished on the moon, for more than I ever knew  
A sweeter rose, a softer sky  
On April days that would not dance by  
  
I wished on the stars to throw me a beam or two  
I begged on the stars and asked for a dream or two  
I looked for every loveliness, it all came true  
I wished on the moon for you_  
  
Sören got all choked up now, and Anthony was choked up too. He reached out and gave Sören a squeeze.  
  
"When I was a lad," Anthony said, "my mum used to read me fairy stories. And at night, I used to go out to the garden and say goodnight to the moon and stars -"  
  
"Hey, I used to do that in Iceland, too."  
  
Their eyes met, and Anthony squeezed Sören again and continued, "And before I knew what 'gay' was, I just knew I liked boys and not girls, that way, I used to wish that I'd meet Prince Charming. Which sounds so utterly fucking daft now that I'm grown up..."  
  
"It's _cute._" Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. "That's precious. My god."  
  
Anthony turned beetroot. "Anyway. I went through a lot of toads, I think, but..."  
  
"You think you found Prince Charming?" Sören was touched.  
  
"Not a prince." Anthony stroked Sören's face. "A king."  
  
Sören leaned in to kiss him. Anthony ended up having to pull over, the two of them kissing passionately in the car under the moonglow, snow falling. At last Anthony pushed him back, chuckling. "Save that for later," he husked.  
  
As soon as they got back in the flat after dinner Sören fell on him again, the two kissing and undressing feverishly as if their lives depended on it. Sören pulled Anthony down onto the bed and spread to him, needing to be filled again. He sighed when Anthony slid into him, when they were one flesh once more. Nothing had ever felt so right.


	8. Naughty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If interested, here are two links to hear the full version of the Jólakötturinn song (yes yes y'all it's an actual song, I did not make it up just for the story):
> 
> -[as sung by Björk](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4xG6hQWsno)
> 
> -[as sung by Ragnheiður Gröndal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6QszJG0sYZE)
> 
> Enjoy!

Sören _growled_ as he turned off the blaring alarm clock, and made a whining noise as Anthony patted him and he snuggled deeper against his lover.  
  
"I don't wanna go to wo-o-o-o-ork," Sören moaned.  
  
"I know, love." Anthony kissed Sören's brow. "And I don't want to encourage you to take a sick day -"  
  
"No, that would... bother my conscience too much. As it is, the reason why I'm working Christmas Eve is because we need what help we can get." Sören frowned and sat up. Anthony sat up with him and stole a kiss.  
  
It was Saturday, December twenty-fourth. On Friday the twenty-third Sören had the morning free and he'd done very last-minute gift shopping for Anthony; he'd gotten off work late last night but had told Anthony to come over in the morning instead. Anthony had assumed it was so Sören could go right to sleep after his shift, but what he didn't know was that Sören had no intention of going to Anthony's parents' house empty-handed on Sunday, so when he arrived home just before midnight he got right to work in the kitchen. At a loss as far as presents for Elaine and Roger Hewlett-Johnson, Sören had decided on baked goods, since almost everyone liked those. And so he spent the next couple hours whipping up batches of traditional Icelandic holiday treats - _piparkökur, spesíur_ and Sören's personal favorite, _lakkrístoppar_.  
  
He got a few hours of sleep before Anthony came by his flat in Bromley first thing on this Saturday morning; Sören didn't even get a chance to fold up his bed back into the couch. Anthony didn't seem to mind. As he made coffee in the kitchen he noticed what Sören had done - stealing one of the _piparkökur_ for himself while Sören scolded him and Anthony made an innocent face that wasn't innocent at all - and then Anthony had asked, "You made those?"  
  
"Jæja, I... stayed up last night. I wanted to do something nice for your parents since they're kind enough to invite me, and they're insisting we spend the night." Mindful of the busy schedules Sören and Anthony kept and how precious their free time was, Elaine had told Anthony they were welcome to spend the night in Anthony's old room rather than go to a hotel or try to drive back. Sören felt a _little_ awkward about sharing a bed with his lover under the same roof as his parents, but he knew it was more practical.  
  
Anthony pulled Sören into a tight hug and rained kisses all over his face. He was visibly touched, knowing what it cost Sören with his constant exhaustion to do such a thing. "You dear, thoughtful man."  
  
Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. "I tried -"  
  
Anthony kissed him hard, and it turned out to be just as well that Sören hadn't folded up his bed, because Anthony pulled him onto it and soon they were undressing and settled into a hungry sixty-nine. They spent the entire day of Christmas Eve in bed making sweaty, loud, messy, passionate love, sucking and rimming each other, taking each other, bringing each other to climax after climax. Eventually Sören felt like he'd been shot out of the sky, falling from the blinding glory of sex into a warm, cozy sleep, wrapped up in Anthony's arms, their legs entwined. Anthony had the sense to set Sören's alarm clock so Sören could wake up in time to get ready for his shift with enough time to spare to eat, shower, and do some last-minute canoodling.  
  
After Sören showered, he called for takeaway from a nearby Indian restaurant that was open for delivery on Christmas Eve. As they waited for the food to arrive, Sören and Anthony folded the bed back into the couch and then Sören put on the stereo, selecting a station playing Christmas music, and he and Anthony danced around Sören's tiny kitchen, Anthony spinning him around and dipping him. Just as Sören saw the delivery car pull up from the window, Anthony stole another _piparkökur_, shoving one in Sören's mouth and nibbling one himself.  
  
"Save those for your parents, you," Sören said.  
  
Anthony grinned and playfully swatted Sören's ass. "I can't help it, they're so tempting. Like the man who made them." He leered.  
  
Heat rose to Sören's cheeks and he giggled, swatting Anthony back. "Good lord."  
  
"You could have become a chef if you hadn't gone into medicine," Anthony said as he nibbled the cookie. "Seriously."  
  
"Oh come on, I mean they're good, I guess, but I wouldn't win any awards."  
  
"I beg to differ. You are a man of many talents."  
  
"Your mind is right in the gutter again, isn't it."  
  
"Darling, my mind lives in the gutter, where you are concerned." Anthony leaned in and gave Sören a little kiss. "But in the gutter though I may be, I look at you and see the stars."  
  
"That's beautiful."  
  
"That's paraphrasing Oscar Wilde."  
  
"Still." Sören kissed him back, hard, and gave a little groan, lamenting that it would be impractical for them to try to have more sex before his shift started. The knock came at the door and Sören answered, paying the driver and tipping generously since it was the holiday.  
  
They sat on the couch together and ate, and then Anthony said, "Would you like your Christmas gift now or later?"  
  
"Depends on what it is." Sören looked at the clock and then gave Anthony a pointed look.  
  
Anthony's laughter rang out. "I'm clearly not the only one whose mind is always in the gutter."  
  
"Hi Clearly Not The Only One Who -"  
  
Anthony silenced him with a kiss. "It's an actual gift, Sören." A pause. "The kind you unwrap."  
  
"That's still not helping."  
  
Anthony glared. "With a bow on it."  
  
"...That's not helping either."  
  
Anthony lost it, turning red, doubling over. "Sören Sigurðsson, do you think I would put a bow on..." He couldn't finish the sentence, laughing too hard.  
  
When they calmed down Sören said, "Well, Christmas Eve was when I opened presents... the years I got anything, anyway..." He watched Anthony cringe - Anthony still didn't know the extent of how bad Sören's upbringing in Iceland had been, but moments like this were telling, and Sören could see he felt for him. "So we might as well do it now, plus that takes pressure off me with your parents seeing what I got you and thinking it's not good enough or -"  
  
"Oh, _Sören._" Anthony patted him. He reached into the overnight bag he'd brought and pulled out a navy-colored gift bag. Sören went over to the kitchen, opened up a cupboard - Anthony laughed that Sören had actually hidden the gift, knowing how he liked to poke around - and Sören came back with a long, narrow box, wrapped in red plaid wrapping paper with a gold bow.  
  
Sören opened the navy blue gift bag and pulled out something cube-shaped and heavy, wrapped in deep blue sparkly wrapping paper with a curly silver bow. Sören shook it and it made no sound; Anthony seemed amused by this. "Go on," Anthony said.  
  
Despite the careful wrapping job, Sören tore into the paper, to Anthony's greater amusement, Anthony laughing as wrapping paper went everywhere. Anthony had given Sören a set of hardbound books. One was _Leaves of Grass_ by Walt Whitman. One was the collected works of Pablo Neruda. One was a book of Byron's poetry. One was _Four Quartets_ by T.S. Eliot.  
  
"Oh my." Sören felt that ache in his chest, a flutter in his stomach, that Anthony had observed how much Sören was touched by quotations he'd made from poets and thought he might like to read more - which Sören did. It was perfect. He threw his arms around Anthony and kissed him, laughing. "Thank you. I love it. I can't wait to read these." Sören gave a bitter little chuckle. "I can't wait to have time to read these."  
  
Anthony stroked Sören's cheek and pet his curls. "Good, I'm relieved you didn't think this was..." He made a face. "Too nerdy."  
  
"Oh my god _no._" Sören hugged him tighter, and wondered what prompted a statement like that, being they both had to be fairly intellectual to get into their respective professions. "No, it's not too nerdy at all. Are you kidding me? I think it's _so fucking hot_ that you're well-read, that you appreciate poetry..." Sören's voice got husky with emotion. "It's art, with words. It takes depth to be able to connect with it."  
  
Anthony smiled and kissed the tip of Sören's nose, blushing a little.  
  
"Now you," Sören said, thrusting the present at him.  
  
"Do you have a scissor? You did a nice job with wrapping this, I -"  
  
"JUST OPEN THE FUCKING PRESENT," Sören yelled.  
  
Anthony doubled over laughing again. He tweaked Sören's nose and then he tore off the wrapping paper like a big kid, to Sören's delight. The long, narrow box contained a tie - Armani, dark navy blue, herringbone design. Anthony didn't react when he saw it - neither registering pleasure nor disappointment.  
  
"I know it's not exciting," Sören said, "but it's practical, and it'll go with the colors you usually wear, and it's... it's, you know, Armani." It had cost most of the hundred quid Sören had insisted on as a limit for spending, and Sören suspected Anthony had still gone over the limit with his books. "And it's... you know, a little piece of me to take with you every day..."  
  
Anthony's eyes softened and he reached for Sören's hand and squeezed.  
  
And then Sören put the spin on it that he'd been planning on when he got the idea in his head to just go with the safe, low-stress option of a tie. "And it means Jólakötturinn won't eat you."  
  
Anthony's eyes widened, his eyebrows went up, and he said, looking amused and bemused all at once, "Yo-la... what? _Eating me_? What?"  
  
Sören laughed. "So to back up a bit, back in Iceland, our Christmas is different. We have a troll couple, Gryla and Leppaludi, who live in a cave, and they cook naughty children in a stew. They have thirteen sons, the Jólasveinar or Yule Lads, and they come one by one to play pranks on everyone. If you're good, they leave you sweets or other small gifts in your shoe, and if you've been naughty, they leave a potato. But the Yule Lads are mostly harmless. It's the Jólakötturinn you have to watch out for. The Yule Cat will eat you if you don't get at least one item of new clothing for Christmas."  
  
"Are you taking the piss?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Icelanders teach this to small children?"  
  
Sören nodded vehemently. "We live on a tiny island with volcanoes that can kill us, it's made everything a bit dark, I think."  
  
"That's seriously disturbing, and if I was a religious man I'd say I'm going to hell for finding that funny. Scaring children is awful."  
  
"It's not really that scary, if you've behaved yourself and you've got new clothing." Sören gestured to the tie. "See? You're safe from Jólakötturinn... this year."  
  
"Well, thank you." Anthony took the tie out of the box and gave Sören a kiss. "It's my color, and I will always think of you when I wear it." He snickered. "My hero, saving me from the Yule Cat."  
  
"Wish I could save us from my fucking Yule _schedule,_" Sören said, glowering at the clock.  
  
"Right, I should bring you to work now."  
  
Sören had packed a bag to bring to Anthony's parents' house in Blackheath for the weekend, and they brought the bag and the cookies down to Anthony's car so when Sören got off work tomorrow late afternoon they could just go directly from National to Blackheath without having to stop at Sören's flat in Bromley first. As Anthony loaded the cookies into his Audi, Sören scolded him, "Now, you leave those alone and save them for Christmas Day, or I'll take back that tie and let Jólakötturinn eat you."  
  
Anthony chuckled and stole a kiss. "I love you, you know."  
  
"I know." Sören kissed him back. "I love you too."  
  
At National, Sören lingered in the car, not wanting to go. They shared a few last kisses, until the kisses got more heated and Sören was tempted to be late for work. They pulled apart breathing hard, flushed, and Anthony said, "I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
Sören gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I'm sorry I have to work tonight."  
  
"I am too, but it's not your fault. Do you want me to come by on your break -"  
  
"You can, but you need your rest too, so it's OK if you just come by when my shift is done." Sören blew him a kiss and gave him a sad little wave.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Anthony didn't come by on Sören's break, which was fine because Sören was a bit frazzled and didn't quite want Anthony to see him like this on Christmas. He managed to calm down when his shift was over and Anthony was waiting for him in the Audi, all smiles when he got in the car.  
  
Anthony gave him a big kiss as he slid in the passenger's seat. "Happy Christmas."  
  
"_Gleðileg jól til þín._"  
  
Christmas music played softly on the car stereo as Anthony drove to Blackheath, and Anthony had hot chocolate in a thermos for Sören, which he took with mumbled thanks as he sat back and let himself unwind in the cozy warmth of the car, watching gentle snowfall over London at sunset.  
  
When they pulled into the neighborhood in Blackheath, Anthony said, "One thing to be aware of before we go in. Under no circumstances should you discuss politics with my father."  
  
Sören laughed. "Wasn't planning on it."  
  
"Sören, you'd be surprised what my father can turn into a political discussion. I love my father, distant though we are, and I wouldn't call him racist or homophobic, but he can be a bit clueless about how the rest of the world lives. I have no idea sometimes how my parents ended up together, I'm guessing a lot of alcohol was involved."  
  
Sören didn't know what he was expecting when they arrived, but Anthony's parents' house was like something out of _Mary Poppins_ or _Upstairs, Downstairs_. The villa was four stories with a grey stone exterior, manicured flowerbeds sleeping for the winter. When Sören walked inside carrying the wrapped-up plates of cookies, Anthony's arm around him, Sören felt painfully conscious of Anthony's flawless elegance, wearing a black wool greatcoat with a navy cashmere scarf, a steel-blue cashmere sweater and dark blue jeans underneath, and Sören coming to the house straight from work in a black leather duster over his scrubs and the long-sleeved T-shirt he wore under his scrub top to cover his tattoos per NHS regulations. Sören also cringed at the reflection in the doorway - the long hours under high pressure showed on his face.  
  
But the woman at the door greeted them warmly, seeming delighted to see Sören regardless of what he looked like. She was tall, slim, steel-grey hair in a pixie cut, green eyes framed by glasses, handsome rather than pretty, wearing a chocolate brown pantsuit with a beige camisole and a strand of cream Akoya pearls. "You must be Sören," she said in a deep, rich, well-cultured voice, immediately pulling him into a hug. "I'm Elaine."  
  
"Nice to meet you," Sören said.  
  
"Mum." Anthony hugged his mother.  
  
"Come in, come in." Elaine gestured.  
  
They went from a glass-topped porch to a hallway with glossy dark wood floors and a large white staircase. Sören's breath caught at the sash windows and stained glass, again at the plaster flowers at the tops of the grey walls, metalwork repurposed as sculptures and wall hangings, and _the chandelier._  
  
"This place is incredible," Sören said.  
  
"I bought it when Anthony was four," Elaine said, "repaired and redesigned it."  
  
"Oh... you're..."  
  
"An architect," Elaine said, nodding. Elaine looked at the tinfoil-wrapped plates Sören was carrying. "Those are for us, dear?"  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
Elaine took them and Sören and Anthony followed her to the kitchen, removing their outerwear to hang on a coat rack. Anthony was carrying their overnight bags and set them down by the coat rack as well. The kitchen was done in a wood finish and had all-new, glossy appliances in cream. Judging from the smell and what was sitting atop the stove and on counters, Christmas dinner had been timed to be ready for when they arrived.  
  
Sören felt self-conscious again. "I hope I didn't keep you guys waiting too long if you're hungry -"  
  
"Nonsense. Here, pick out what you'd like and I'll fix your plates if you go have a seat in the dining room."  
  
Sören looked around. He thought the bird was probably goose, and he didn't recognize much of anything else apart from greens and herbed, roasted potatoes which looked good. "Um, I'll have whatever Anthony is having." That sounded like a safe bet.  
  
"All right, dear."  
  
Anthony's father Roger was sitting at the dining table when they walked in - glass-topped, big enough to sit somewhere between eight to ten people, sturdy wooden chairs with floral carvings on the back. Sören stared at another chandelier and the pretty windows and gauzy curtains, mouth open, and then Roger rose from the dining table. Anthony favored his mother in looks and coloring - Roger had a mix of auburn and grey hair, and cool grey eyes, with a rather square-jawed, disapproving face. He was also shorter than Sören and Anthony, though of a build that suggested he had once been an athlete, now halted by obvious arthritis in his joints. He wore a dark red blazer and khakis, and the red plaid slippers suggested he'd spent the day relaxing indoors. He took Sören's hand and gave him a genuine smile before reaching out to pat his son on the back. "Anthony. And... Sören, is it? It's good to finally meet you."  
  
Anthony pulled out a chair for Sören, who said "_Takk_," beaming as he sat down. Elaine came out with Sören and Anthony's plates first, and Sören was hungry enough that he wanted to start right away, but Anthony stayed Sören's hand with a look that said _wait_. Elaine came back with a plate for Roger and she asked, "What would you like to drink? We have cider, egg nog..."  
  
"Egg nog," Sören said.  
  
"Cider for me, and I will take a shot of whisky if you have it," Anthony said.  
  
"What about you, Sören? We have scotch, gin and tonic, ale..."  
  
"I'll have ale, yes, thank you." Sören smiled and Elaine smiled back.  
  
When drinks were served, Elaine came back with her plate and when she started eating, that was the cue for everyone else. "Oh god, this is good," Sören said as he tried the goose.  
  
Elaine grinned.  
  
"So you've just come from work?" Roger said, sizing Sören up.  
  
Sören nodded. "Had to work overnight Christmas Eve."  
  
"Goodness, that's a long shift," Elaine said.  
  
"Indeed. They expect you to work on Christmas?" Roger scowled.  
  
"It's not like we can help the emergency trauma cases that come in," Sören said. "Someone's got to be around."  
  
Anthony kicked Sören under the table, whispered, "Remember what I told you in the car," and then he said to his parents, "Sören has tonight off, all of tomorrow, and tomorrow night, so there's that."  
  
"Well, you boys are welcome to stay," Elaine said.  
  
"You sure it's not any trouble?" Sören made a moue.  
  
"Sören, we have plenty of space, and Anthony still has his old room," Elaine said. "Besides, it's nice having family around, since my mum couldn't make it this year. She's in Tahiti for Christmas with Donovan." To Sören she explained, "Her companion."  
  
Anthony leaned in and whispered, "Boytoy."  
  
"I heard that, Cornelius Anthony," Elaine said, giving him a stern look though her eyes registered amusement, while Roger looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Donovan is a very nice young man who makes your gran very happy."  
  
"I didn't say there was anything wrong with that," Anthony said, going on the defensive. "On the contrary, I think society makes too much of a big deal over things like age differences between consenting adults. But let's call a spade a spade. I bristle at the word 'companion' being used for someone's partner for what should be obvious reasons."  
  
"Anthony, this isn't the courtroom, dear," Elaine said. "Try the plum pudding, I used Mum's recipe."  
  
There was Yorkshire pudding, and plum pudding, and figgy pudding, and for Roger, black pudding. "How many things do the English call pudding?" Sören asked, examining a bit of plum pudding on his fork.  
  
Anthony flushed and tried not to laugh, and failed, working on his whisky.  
  
"What do you usually have for Christmas dinner in Iceland, Sören?" Elaine asked.  
  
"Well, it depends." Sören decided to not get in the tragic story of his life with Elaine and Roger. "I like a good leg of lamb, myself, but this goose is to die for." Sören tried the plum pudding. "Hey, this is pretty good. But... there's no plums in this?"  
  
"No, there are no plums in plum pudding," Elaine said, seeming amused rather than offended by Sören's confusion. "It's got raisins."  
  
Sören had seconds of the greens, potatoes, and goose, and Elaine gave him some of the rich, crispy goose skin which Sören really enjoyed, raving about it to Anthony's amusement. After the meal Sören insisted on helping with dishes, wearing Elaine down when she initially refused, and Anthony came in to load the dishwasher when things were rinsed.  
  
Elaine began to take the tinfoil off the cookies Sören had brought. "Oh, these look delicious."  
  
"I baked them myself. That's _piparkökur_, ginger cookies, _spesíur_ which is sugar cookies, and _lakkrístoppar_ \- meringues, licorice with chocolate."  
  
"I'm taking one now." Elaine had one of the _lakkrístoppar_.  
  
"Excellent choice, those are my favorite." Sören grinned.  
  
Elaine leaned on the kitchen counter and made a face of bliss as she ate a cookie. "My god, Sören. This is wonderful. And so thoughtful!"  
  
"I didn't want to come empty-handed," Sören said.  
  
When the dishwasher was started, Sören and Anthony followed Elaine out to the reception room - Elaine brought the cookies - where Roger was having a glass of scotch and Anthony had a second one. Sören and Anthony sat on a couch together across from Anthony's parents, kicking their feet up, and when Anthony put an arm around Sören, Sören leaned against him.  
  
"So Anthony tells me you met at National, when he was doing investigative research for a court case," Elaine said.  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
"How long have you been there? And in England?"  
  
"The NHS sponsored my visa, I came over in mid 2010."  
  
"Do you like it here? I've seen pictures of Iceland, it's a beautiful country, you must get homesick..."  
  
"Now and again, but this is home now," Sören said, and took Anthony's hand as if to say _you are home now._ Anthony got the message and squeezed Sören's hand, thumb rubbing over Sören's ring finger.  
  
"You think you'll be with the NHS for awhile, or go private sector?"  
  
"Probably NHS as long as I can," Sören said. He skirted around the issue of Scandinavian values, not wanting to get into political discussion with Roger. "They work us hard, but it's... it's a calling. I knew I wanted to be a doctor since I was small, and a brain doctor when I learned about the different specialties of medicine."  
  
"That's quite a calling, to feel it so young," Elaine said. "Did anything prompt that?"  
  
"My mother died," Sören said matter-of-factly. "Brain aneurysm. I was almost six."  
  
"I'm sorry," Elaine said, and Roger nodded sympathy.  
  
Sören hadn't wanted to be a downer on the holiday. "You're an architect, you said?"  
  
"Yes," Elaine said. "Sometime I'll get out my portfolio and show you my work, if you're interested. Like you, it was an early calling, though for different reasons. I was gifted a dollhouse and it quickly got to be too small for the amount of dolls I had, and my mum said I had to wait till my next birthday to get one - she had money but didn't want to indulge me _too_ much. So I made additions myself. I drew up a plan and constructed it from materials on hand. My friends were impressed and wanted me to make dollhouses for them. Then I was reading stories and my mind was visualizing everything I was reading and I drew the houses from my imagination. It took off from there, really."  
  
"My story is far less exciting," Roger said. "I'm an accountant. Well, was... I'm retired now, though I can still help crunch numbers when it needs doing for family or friends."  
  
"Not exciting but it paid the bills," Elaine said, "and left you with time for more interesting hobbies, which in my opinion is important, life is for living, after all." Elaine turned back to Sören. "When it's springtime you'll have to see Roger's garden."  
  
"Oh yes." Roger chuckled. "That garden is my pride and joy just like this house is Elaine's."  
  
"And all work and no play makes life dull," Elaine said. "I assume you have hobbies too, Sören?"  
  
"I draw, sometimes I paint," Sören said. "I read. I liked to go hiking when I lived in Iceland, go out and be one with nature."  
  
"Oh! Maybe if I show you my portfolio, you can show me your art sometime?" Elaine's face lit up.  
  
"Maybe." Sören fidgeted in his seat.  
  
Anthony elbowed him. "Sören, your art is _good_. It deserves to be shown to more people." He looked at his mother. "Mum, you have to see his work, he is _very_ gifted."  
  
"You're gifted in the kitchen too," Elaine said, having another cookie. She gave one of the sugar cookies to Roger, who brightened up and had more. "You baked these yourself."  
  
"I'm glad you like them," Sören said.  
  
"I feel a bit bad that we didn't get you anything for Christmas now," Elaine said, "but I take it Anthony explained to you we don't spend money on each other - I have everything I want, Anthony can afford to get himself anything he wants, so I'd rather a donation to charity be made in my name."  
  
"He did tell me that and I'm OK with that," Sören said. He added honestly, "I'd just feel obligated to get you something for Christmas because then baked goods wouldn't really cut it, and holiday shopping is stressful for me even when I'm not working the kind of hours I do."  
  
"Yes, that's part of why I instituted this policy a few years ago. Anthony already has to do little token shopping for his colleagues, I don't see the point of putting additional stress on him trying to guess what to get us," Elaine said.  
  
"I still got Sören a little something," Anthony said.  
  
"Well, good. For your partner, definitely that's the right thing to do."  
  
"He wouldn't let me be extravagant," Anthony said, giving Sören a look, and then, smiling, he said, "Books of poetry. Whitman, Neruda, Eliot, Byron..."  
  
"Oh, _good._" Elaine sounded _relieved_ by that, and Sören was surprised, but didn't press it. "Yes, it's good that you have someone who..." Elaine seemed to catch herself. "Reads." Elaine sipped on egg nog. "What about you, Sören?"  
  
"I got Anthony a tie," Sören said, feeling a twinge of self-consciousness.  
  
"It was an Armani tie," Anthony quickly added. "It will go with every suit I own." Anthony grinned. "And the Yule Cat won't eat me."  
  
"The..." Elaine raised an eyebrow, and the look of genuine puzzlement on her face made Anthony laugh, which made Sören laugh too.  
  
Sören explained the Icelandic Christmas folklore to Elaine and Roger, and Roger looked a bit perplexed while Elaine clapped her hands and laughed uproariously.  
  
"I can see why you're such a kind, thoughtful young man," Elaine said, "if you had the threat of being fed to hungry trolls hanging over your head as a lad." She winked, eyes full of mischief. Then she turned to Anthony. "Did you know about any of this beforehand?"  
  
"He just told me about it yesterday," Anthony said.  
  
"I know I said I didn't want gifts, but now I'm concerned the Yule Cat will eat us in our sleep," Elaine said with a smirk.  
  
"Jæja, that's why I made all those Christmas cookies," Sören said, though it wasn't really. "We can't possibly eat them all in one night so there'll be enough left over and that will hopefully distract Jólakötturinn and he'll forget all about eating you."  
  
"Oh, I love the sound of that," Elaine said. "Say it again?"  
  
"Jólakötturinn," Sören said, amused.  
  
"You have such a beautiful language," Elaine said.  
  
"If you like the sound of that, we have a song," Sören said, feeling emboldened by the ale he'd had. "Should I sing it to you?"  
  
"Please."  
  
Sören took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and sang the traditional song in its haunting, melancholy minor key.  
  
_Þið kannist við jólaköttinn  
Sá köttur var gríðarstór  
Fólk vissi ekki hvaðan hann kom  
Eða hvert hann fór  
  
Hann glennti upp glyrnurnar sínar  
Glóandi báðar tvær  
Það var ekki heiglum hent  
Að horfa í þær  
  
Kamparnir beittir sem broddar  
Upp úr bakinu kryppa há  
Og klærnar á loðinni löpp  
Var ljótt að sjá  
  
Því var það að konurnar kepptust  
Við kamba og vefstól og rokk  
Og prjónuðu litfagran lepp  
Eða lítinn sokk..._  
  
When the song was finished, Elaine stood up and clapped. "Bravo. You have a beautiful voice," she said.  
  
Sören's cheeks flushed.  
  
Anthony gave Sören a squeeze and tousled his curls. Sören grinned at him, and grabbed a cookie and put it in Anthony's mouth before he could be tempted to snog him in front of the parents.  
  
That urge intensified as Elaine took Sören on a proper tour of the house, ending with the patio doors that led out to the garden, a winter wonderland glowing softly with fairy lights, and Sören noticed there was a mistletoe hanging right above the patio doors. When Elaine turned to go back into the kitchen, Anthony grabbed Sören and kissed him hard. Sören gave a little moan into the kiss, melting against him.  
  
"What was that for?" Sören asked when they pulled apart.  
  
"You and your native language." And as they marched towards the kitchen, Anthony's arms wrapped around Sören's waist, walking close behind him, and Sören could feel he was half-hard. Sören grinned.  
  
In the kitchen, having a last cup of egg nog, Anthony stood behind Sören - who knew it was to conceal his arousal - and Elaine said, "If you boys need anything, help yourselves, all right?" She leaned in to kiss her son's cheek, and then she kissed Sören's cheek as well and patted him. "I'm so glad you came for Christmas and it'll be nice having you here tomorrow! Roger and I are going out for a bit tomorrow afternoon but we'll be home in the evening, you boys I'm sure can find things to pass the time, we have a large DVD collection, Anthony's old gaming consoles are in his room..." She strode off. "Good night, dears. Sleep well."  
  
Anthony's old room was on the second floor, far away from everything else on the second floor except the bathroom. The second floor had a library and second sitting room with a home theatre and a grand piano and a liquor cabinet, large but more intimate than the reception room on the first floor. Sören let out a low whistle at the piano. "Who plays?"  
  
"I do," Anthony said. He pushed Sören along from the sitting room towards his bedroom.  
  
Anthony claimed that his old bedroom was left the way he'd had it when leaving for Cambridge in 1998, apart from the TV being replaced by a flat-screen. He had a bed that was just big enough to accommodate two adults with a somewhat tight fit, a dark wood frame and headboard that matched the wooden floor. The duvet had a print of a galaxy and nebulas, and the pillowcases and curtains matched, which Sören smiled at. Sören's smile broadened at the poster of Bush, prominently featuring Gavin Rossdale sweaty and shirtless - "that is so 90s it hurts," Sören said - and then he had a gigglefit, clapping when Anthony turned on two lava lamps and larger glow lamp that changed color as it rotated.  
  
The flat-screen TV was on a handsome shelf unit that had several old gaming consoles and a bin of ancient video games underneath. Sören's laughter rang out when he saw Super Mario and Sonic the Hedgehog. "Oh my GOD," Sören wheezed. "We totally need to play sometime."  
  
"You want to play now?" Anthony grinned.  
  
They got in their pajamas and Anthony set it up, and they sat down with two controllers to play Super Mario. "So what are the stakes here?" Sören said with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"Whoever wins gets to top," Anthony said, smirking.  
  
"You're on."  
  
Two and a half hours later, Anthony won, and Sören felt heat flood him. Anthony wasted no time in claiming his prize, kissing Sören roughly, undoing his pajama top button by button.  
  
When they were both naked, Anthony turned off the lights, put on the lava lamps and the color change lamp, and then queued up "Alright" by Jamiroquai, giving Sören a naughty look that made Sören howl, before Anthony joined Sören on the bed.  
  
"Hi," Anthony said.  
  
"Hi," Sören said.  
  
They kissed.  
  
"Come here often?" Anthony raised an eyebrow.  
  
Sören gigglesnorted. "I do now, apparently."  
  
Anthony pulled Sören into his arms and kissed him deeply, and Sören moaned into the kiss, cock springing to life. Jamiroquai played softly in the background as their hands roamed, cocks rubbing together, kissing sweetly and teasingly, then fiercely and hungrily, getting more and more lost in desire. Sören wondered if Anthony had ever done this with anyone else in his bed, and as if he read Sören's mind, Anthony paused and said, "I feel like I'm making up for lost time."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"I didn't date, when I was younger and had this room. I wasn't going to try to date girls, that felt like lying, and I wasn't bold enough to date boys in the late 90s."  
  
"Understandable." Sören stroked Anthony's cheek. "Well, you've got me now."  
  
"And you are _so_ much hotter than anyone I went to school with." Anthony kissed him hard. "By leaps and bounds." His voice got lower, huskier. "Plus, your accent."  
  
"You _really_ have a fetish for me speaking Icelandic, too, don't you?"  
  
"I do." Anthony nibbled on him. "And..." He kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "It was so cute, the way you went on about the Yule Cat."  
  
"Awwwww."  
  
"Although..." Anthony chuckled. "It makes me feel bad I didn't get you a clothing item, as well. If I'd known about that part of your culture sooner, I would have gotten you... like... sexy underwear or something."  
  
Sören giggled. "Oh myyyyy." He waggled his eyebrows. "So I take it that means you'd like to see me in sexy underwear?"  
  
"Well, I'd prefer to see you _out_ of sexy underwear..." Anthony's cheeks flushed, and they laughed harder. "But yes, I think you wearing something like a thong would be incredibly hot. Especially if you were... you know. Wearing that for me, under your work clothes, in anticipation of seeing me when your shift ended."  
  
"Mmmmm." Sören kissed him, his cock twinging. "I like that idea too."  
  
"Good." Anthony kissed him back. "Perhaps next year that'll be my gift to keep you safe from the Yule Cat. But in the meantime..." He leered. "The Yule Cat can't eat you if I eat you first."  
  
Sören gigglesnorted, laughing so hard his sides hurt. He stopped laughing when Anthony began kissing and licking him all over, teasing his nipples, his stomach, his thighs, and he let out a loud moan when Anthony took Sören's cock into his mouth. Anthony let it slip and gave Sören a look. "We have to be kind of quiet," he said. "Mum and Dad are right upstairs. My music's not loud enough to bother them but _that_ is."  
  
Sören bit back a moan as Anthony swallowed him down again.  
  
After a few minutes of Anthony sucking him, with mischief in his eyes Anthony let go of Sören's cock and kissed and nibbled Sören's thighs, making Sören fight off another moan. Anthony licked around the rim of Sören's opening a few times, Sören whimpering into his hand, and he gasped when Anthony's tongue speared him. It took Sören everything he had to not howl and scream as Anthony's tongue rubbed inside him, teasing the sweet spot just right, bringing him to that edge right away and keeping him there, Sören utterly lost in pleasure.  
  
"Oh, _god_," Sören ground out. "Fuck, that's so good..."  
  
"I love doing this to you." Anthony's tongue brushed around the rim of Sören's channel again before plunging back inside.  
  
"You have the most amazing tongue." Sören gasped and shuddered. He clutched Anthony's head, and his hands slid down to Anthony's shoulders, nails digging in, which made Anthony shiver and moan into him, licking harder, faster. Sören gave a little whimper and Anthony slapped his thigh to say _quiet_.  
  
Then Sören let out a moan, as Anthony's tongue slowed down, deliberately tormenting him. Anthony laughed softly. "Shhhhh," he cautioned before he slipped his tongue back into Sören.  
  
"I can't help it," Sören whispered. Then Sören laughed too, at the surreality of this. "God, I can't believe we're doing this. It was one thing for your mum to say it was OK to spend the night, knowing we'd be sharing a bed, but this..." Sören chuckled. "You eating my arse in your old bed, that's pretty fucking kinky."  
  
"Yes, it is." Anthony smiled at him before tonguing him some more.  
  
"So kinky." Sören shivered. "So, so naughty. This is probably the naughtiest, kinkiest thing I've ever done."  
  
Anthony stopped licking for a moment, a look of pure evil on his face. "Oh, I can make it kinkier."  
  
"Can you now."  
  
Anthony got up, with Sören making a whimper of protest. He grabbed his bathrobe, which made Sören whimper again and cry out, "_Please_," and Anthony gave a harsh "shhhh" before he left the bedroom, leaving Sören laying there frustrated. Sören heard the sound of Anthony going down the stairs, and then moving around on the first floor, and then coming back upstairs. Sören idly stroked himself, waiting, and Anthony came back in carrying the cashmere scarf he'd been wearing outside. Sören gave him a bemused look and Anthony gave Sören a look of mock disapproval as he closed the door behind him.  
  
"Did I say you could touch yourself while I was gone?" Anthony asked.  
  
"No, but..."  
  
"Well, it appears my idea was prescient." Anthony took off his bathrobe, freeing his very hard, very slick cock - the sight of it made Sören lick his lips - and he got on the bed with the scarf, grabbed one of Sören's arms, and began to tie Sören's wrist to the headboard. "If this isn't OK, let me know -"  
  
"Oh, _shit._" Sören laughed, his cock jolting with need, another bead of precum dripping out of him, sliding down the shaft. "_Fuck_, that's hot."  
  
Anthony grinned, and took Sören's other arm and bound the other wrist. He surveyed his handiwork and then he said to Sören, "Try to move your arms, I want to make sure that isn't too loose or too tight."  
  
Sören did as requested. "It's fine."  
  
"Good." With that, Anthony dove back down between Sören's legs.  
  
He ate Sören more slowly than before, and Sören desperately tried and failed to not cry out, only half-succeeding, making tiny moans and whimpers, gasping, panting. Anthony reveled in the power he had over Sören, teasing him and teasing him, dangling Sören helplessly at the edge of orgasm but not taking him over just yet, getting Sören more and more sensitized, watching him lose control as Sören bucked against his face, panting, gasping. Sören had never been tied up before - he'd certainly heard about it, and been curious about it, but he'd never trusted any of his prior casual sex partners for something like this. Here, there was trust, and being bound, Sören felt incredibly free, going even deeper into pleasure and lust, feeling more sexual hunger than he'd ever felt in his life, giving Anthony the gift of watching him transform in the throes of passion, Anthony's eyes watching him intently.  
  
Anthony got Sören closer and closer to orgasm, and before he could bring Sören off just from his tongue, he stopped. Sören almost cried, as pent up as he was, and he gave a particularly loud moan as Anthony lapped up the precum flowing down Sören's aching, needy cock. Anthony kissed and nibbled his way up, and he reached for the lubricant he'd somehow grabbed when he got his bathrobe. He readied them both, and then he began to push inside Sören. He watched Sören's eyes as he worked his way in, Sören breathing harder as he was stretched. At last, when Anthony was all the way inside, he claimed Sören's mouth, kissing him fiercely, and they both moaned into the kiss.  
  
"I love you," Anthony husked, and he began to thrust.  
  
He went neither too slowly nor as fast and hard as he could go - just enough to build momentum and make Sören feel like he could come any moment now, but not enough to make him come just yet. Just enough to keep teasing, building on Sören's need. Anthony kissed Sören's mouth again and again, tongues teasing, tasting. He kissed and licked Sören's neck, kissed and lapped and suckled and nibbled on Sören's nipples, playing with the rings, in between his fingers walking, hands stroking over Sören's chest and stomach and hips and thighs. Feeling Anthony's hands on him reinforced that Sören was tied up, bound, fully under Anthony's control. When Anthony rose, propping up one of Sören's legs on his shoulder, fucking Sören harder, Sören looked up at him adoringly, worshipful, and Anthony reached to stroke Sören's face, his own eyes loving, before the fierceness returned, pounding into Sören even harder, and Sören matched his rhythm, rolling his hips back at Anthony, lost in the push and pull, the give and take, pleasure building higher and higher.  
  
It didn't take long, once Anthony got going, for Sören to feel himself hurtling to that point of no return. Anthony's left hand wrapped around Sören's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, as his right hand played over Sören's flesh, from his thigh to his chest. Sören heard himself whimper as he writhed against the binds, rocked his hips back at Anthony, giving as good as he got. When Anthony slowed down - maddening, a wicked look on his face - Sören let out a sob.  
  
"_Please_," Sören pleaded.  
  
"Tell me in your native language," Anthony growled.  
  
"There isn't really a word for 'please' in Icelandic." Sören had to learn some social graces the hard way when he moved to England.  
  
"Beg for it, then."  
  
Sören shivered. "_Láttu mig koma._"  
  
Anthony gave a deep groan - now it was Sören's turn to raise an eyebrow at the noise. Anthony still kept the pace slow, tormenting Sören, but Sören knew from the look in his eyes, and feeling Anthony tremble as he thrust, that it was tormenting them both.  
  
Sören bit his lower lip, feeling a small glow of victory even as he was the one being conquered. "_Ég þarf að koma. Ég þarf að fokking. Koma. Ég þarfnast þess erfiðara. Hraðar._ Meira. _Gefðu mér það._"  
  
"Oh, _god._" Anthony shuddered and gave another groan. Now he gave into Sören's pleas, slamming into him.  
  
_So much for keeping it down,_ Sören thought to himself with a small smile at the sound of their bodies smacking together. He too let out a moan at the feel of Anthony's balls slapping his ass, and sighed as Anthony's cock worked magic on his prostate. He was co close. "_Ó, FOKK, bara svona. Bara si svona, ástin mín. Svo gott. Svo gott, næstum þar, rétt þar._"  
  
Anthony made a primal, guttural noise. "_Sören._" He was shaking now, his breath coming in gasps.  
  
Sören moved his arms so the scarf tightened on his wrists, really wanting to feel the binds, reinforcing his surrender, his trust. "_Rétt þar, rétt þar, taktu það, taktu mig._"  
  
"Oh god, Sören..."  
  
"_Taktu mig, taktu mig, ég er þín, láttu mig koma, láttu mig koma fyrir þig._" Sören let out a whimper - he was shaking now too, thighs quivering, balls tightening, the rubbing on his prostate and stroking of his cock at last hitting that perfect note that was about to send him flying. "_Fer að koma fyrir þig, fyrir þig, fyrir þig, fyrir þig, ástin mín, ástin mín._"  
  
"Sören." Their eyes met. "Come for me."  
  
Sören opened his mouth and no sound came out, trying to contain his cry. His entire body twitched, pleasure surging through him as he shot over Anthony's chest, rewarded a few seconds later by the feeling of Anthony spending into him, hearing Anthony give a shuddery sigh, watching the ecstasy on his face as he trembled. Sören shot over him again, and again, sighing deeply as the release throbbed and throbbed inside and out, over and through. He had never come so hard, felt so radiant as he came. He felt the smile light up his face and Anthony smiled too as he settled down on top of Sören, tenderly stroking Sören's cheek, petting his curls, kissing his brow then his mouth. Anthony shivered with an aftershock, groaning into the kiss as he shot into Sören again, and Sören gave another happy little sigh.  
  
Anthony unbound Sören's wrists and Sören flexed them before wrapping his arms around his lover, holding him tight. Anthony rested in him and their legs twined together. For a few minutes they just held each other in silence except for the thunder of their heartbeats, ragged breath slowing down back to normal. Finally Sören broke the silence by saying, softly, "_That_ was fucking amazing."  
  
"I've been wanting to try that with you for awhile but was waiting for the right time," Anthony said, kissing Sören's cheek.  
  
"How long was 'awhile'?"  
  
"Honestly? First night you were over I thought about it. Extensive body mods indicate a high pain tolerance and possible masochism, and there were certain tells in the way you were with me that you have strong submissive tendencies."  
  
Sören laughed so hard he snorted. "Wow. Dude. Do you size everyone up, like, constantly?" He didn't know if he was impressed or terrified, or a bit of both.  
  
"It is literally my job." Anthony grinned. "Sometimes, there are additional bonuses to being observant, beyond drawing blood in the courtroom."  
  
"I guess _so_." Sören cackled. Then he raised an eyebrow. "So, like... how did you get into... this?" He gestured to the scarf.  
  
"I told you Europeans are interesting," Anthony said. "I had some adventures during my time abroad in my very early twenties. I found out I like certain things, and am less keen on others."  
  
"So you wouldn't want to be tied up yourself."  
  
"I am not remotely submissive, no."  
  
"And yet, you picked me up at my job and not, like... a BDSM club or something."  
  
"No." Anthony took a deep breath and met Sören's eyes, looking ready to deliver a small speech, as if he'd been expecting Sören's curiosity and had been internally preparing what he'd say for this moment. "I like doing this once in awhile - maybe a little more than once in awhile - as a bit of novelty. It's fun. I haven't been looking for a submissive _specifically_ because there's what we did just now and there's lifestyle BDSM, and I'm not really into the lifestyle. Trying to meet a partner via 'the scene' means weeding out people who want a full-time dominant, which isn't what I want - I don't want a full-time submissive who I have to give orders to constantly. Part of the fun for me is someone who's independent-minded, strong-willed, perhaps even a bit _defiant_, and getting them to submit, to surrender. And you, of course, challenged me right away, when we met." Anthony chuckled and said, "You still challenge me."  
  
Sören stuck his tongue out to demonstrate Anthony's point.  
  
Anthony smiled indulgently and went on. "Also, trying to find a partner via 'the scene', I also have to weed out people who want heavy pain which I'm not into giving, people who may not want a full-time dom or pain but may still be submissive enough to be 'pillow princesses' and expect me to do all the work in bed while they lay there. That, and having a bit of discretion about where I spend my time and in whose company, well... I decided that finding something like this would either happen organically or not at all. Tying someone up and having my way with them isn't mandatory for me to get my rocks off, it's just a nice to-have, sometimes."  
  
"It's very nice." Sören laughed softly. "I didn't expect to be as into that as I was, wow."  
  
"I had a feeling you would like it but you still surprised me with how much." Anthony kissed him. "A pleasant surprise, to be sure."  
  
Sören kissed him back. "Very pleasant."  
  
"Very." Kiss. "Very." Kiss. "Pleasant." Anthony tousled Sören's curls, stroked his face. "We'll have to do that again."  
  
Sören was getting randy again. "How about now?"  
  
Anthony laughed. "Right now?"  
  
Sören nodded eagerly. Then he grinned as he felt Anthony's cock start to come to life again inside him.  
  
"You are insatiable," Anthony said, kissing Sören.  
  
"You make me insatiable." Sören kissed him hard. "Please."  
  
"I don't know." Anthony propped himself on one elbow, smirking, the fingers of his free hand teasing Sören's nipple in slow, lazy circles. "I don't know if a naughty boy like you should get everything he wants on Christmas..."  
  
"Oh my fucking _god_, Anthony, _myndirðu bara gefa mér haninn._"  
  
Anthony growled and nibbled Sören's lower lip. He pulled out of Sören, with Sören making a little whimper of protest, and Anthony held a finger to Sören's lips. "_Shhhhh._"  
  
"They've probably already heard us -"  
  
"That doesn't mean they need to keep hearing us. _Shhhh._"  
  
For some reason even that was turning Sören on, and Anthony watched with amusement in his eyes as Sören's cock wiggled at him. Then, in stern domination mode, Anthony ground out, "Turn over on your stomach, face down, arse up."  
  
Sören did as he was told. Anthony took the scarf again, and Sören's hole twitched with anticipation, wondering if he was going to be tied up again - and then Anthony surprised him by tying the scarf around Sören's neck, and he gave it a little tug as he positioned himself behind Sören. With the end of the scarf in Anthony's hand, gently pulling on it, the scarf was now a makeshift leash. Sören _loved_ that, moaning into the pillows.  
  
Anthony took him from behind and when he was all the way inside he tugged on the scarf-leash with his left hand, slapped Sören's ass with the right. "So naughty."  
  
"God, yes." Sören let out a gasp and rubbed his ass against Anthony.  
  
Anthony began to thrust, slowly. He shoved his fingers in Sören's mouth, still holding onto the scarf-leash with the other hand. Sören moaned around the fingers in his mouth. "You want it all the time, don't you?"  
  
"Mhm."  
  
"Begging for it like a little bitch in heat."  
  
He withdrew his fingers from Sören's mouth for a moment and Sören took that as his cue to beg. "_Ó guð, já, ég get ekki fengið nóg af hananum þínum inni í mér, ég þarfnast þín svo mikið, þú verður að taka mig og ríða mér og láta mig koma og koma og koma og koma og koma og koma og koma._"  
  
Anthony gave a deep groan and shoved his fingers back in Sören's mouth, fucking him harder; Sören whimpered around his fingers and Anthony tugged on the scarf-leash, slapped Sören's ass. "That's right. You beg like a little bitch, you're going to get fucked like one."  
  
Sören moaned around Anthony's fingers and rocked his hips back at Anthony, fucking himself on the cock gliding in and out of him, overcome by hot, feral sexual need. Nothing else mattered, just getting _fucked_, being _taken_.  
  
Anthony leaned in to nibble and lick the back of Sören's neck, his shoulder, knowing how sensitive Sören was there, laughing softly at Sören's little whines around his fingers. "Yes. I love seeing how much you want this."  
  
Sören nodded and let Anthony's fingers slip from his mouth. "_God_, yes. Need it so bad."  
  
Anthony slapped his ass again. "That's because you're mine." He bit the sweet spot where Sören's neck and shoulder met.  
  
That did it. Sören slammed against him, howling into the pillows until Anthony's fingers were back in his mouth. Anthony matched Sören's wild rhythm and overtook it, driving into Sören as hard as Sören could take it. It felt beyond kinky, doing this with his parents right upstairs, not caring, so far gone in their lust that it didn't matter if the entire world heard them and knew what they were doing. They still tried to keep the moans down, but their bodies slapped together, the bed rocked against the wall. Sören was right on that edge again, Anthony's cock beyond delicious at this position, this pattern.  
  
"Mine," Anthony insisted.  
  
Sören nodded and whimpered around the fingers in his mouth, whimpered again at the pull of the scarf-leash.  
  
"Mine." And then he took his fingers out of Sören's mouth, tilted Sören's head to his, and kissed him, fingers stroking Sören's beard, tracing the outline of his lower lip. His hand slid lower, fingers grazing a nipple before his arm held Sören tight, hand resting on Sören's heart.  
  
It was the perfect storm of sensation, feeling, and hotness. Three thrusts later Sören was gone, shaking as he spilled into the sheets, the world dissolving with every spurt of his cock. Anthony felt him contracting and another three thrusts he was done too, collapsing onto Sören's back shuddering, gasping.  
  
"I love you," Sören whispered.  
  
"I love you." Then Anthony shook with silent laughter.  
  
"What's so funny?"  
  
"...We're going to have to launder these sheets tomorrow."  
  
"God." Sören gigglesnorted. "Like your parents didn't already hear us."  
  
"Well, hopefully not."  
  
"Admit it, you liked the forbidden thrill of it." Sören and Anthony kissed again. "Like I'm a date you brought home or we're... having a sleepover." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. "A naughty sleepover."  
  
"So naughty I'd be surprised if... what's their names... that troll couple... doesn't come all the way from Iceland to put us in a stew."  
  
"Well, Anthony, just remember... they can't eat us if we eat each other first."  
  
They laughed at that, and Anthony stole another kiss before he pulled out, unwrapped the scarf from Sören's neck, and took Sören into his arms. Sören snuggled against his chest, being pet, and then Sören said, "Thank you, you know."  
  
"For?"  
  
"Well, what we did tonight but also..." Sören made a vague hand gesture. "I worried you'd think the tie was lame, but you were a good sport about it."  
  
"It was from you, so that in and of itself makes it precious, and you made it memorable, too. That tie will forever be my good luck charm in honor of when you saved my life from the Yule Cat."  
  
Sören giggled. "OK, well... so long as you're not secretly thinking it's stupid..."  
  
"It's not. I would have politely told you not to get me anything next year if I thought that. To be honest, I was probably more worried about the books, than your worry about the tie."  
  
"_Really._ Even though you quoted some of that to me and I loved it."  
  
"Even though, yes." Anthony nodded solemnly.  
  
Sören thought again about Elaine's reaction to Anthony's gift and Sören's reception, her obvious relief that Anthony was with someone who reads. He thought about asking about it but got the sense now was not the time or place. It was already starting to not be the time or place for words in general, Sören feeling the sleepiness settle in after a long day and two amazing orgasms.  
  
"All I wanted for Christmas was you," Anthony husked, kissing the tip of his nose.  
  
"You got me." Sören kissed him. "_Gleðileg jól, elskan mín._"  
  
  
_  
  
  
For once in his life, Anthony Hewlett-Johnson had not set the alarm to get up, sleeping in. Sören saw it was just after eleven AM when he and Anthony mutually stirred. Anthony looked at the clock, said, "_Jesus_," and gave a guilty grin, chuckling.  
  
They put on pajamas, since they had nowhere they needed to be. Anthony went down the hall to the linen closet, came in with fresh sheets, and he and Sören stripped the bed and put on new sheets, then carried the cum-stained bedding to the ground floor, where there was a washer and dryer in the pantry. Sören remembered that Elaine said she and Roger would be gone for a few hours in the afternoon, and sure enough, it was just the two of them in the house.  
  
Sören assembled some of the assorted cookies he'd made on a plate and he and Anthony took it upstairs to the sitting room down the hall from Anthony's bedroom. "Sören, are you eating biscuits for breakfast?" Anthony gave him a mock stern look.  
  
"_We're_ eating cookies... biscuits... whatever... for breakfast, because we're motherfucking adults."  
  
Anthony laughed, sitting next to Sören, and Sören put a cookie in his mouth.  
  
They cuddled on the couch, watching TV but not really paying attention, both of them in that lazy calm space of finally having some down time from their respective jobs and just zoning out. Sören's gaze kept drifting to the grand piano by the window and finally he said to Anthony, "So, you play that thing?"  
  
"Yes. It's... been awhile. I'm kind of rusty."  
  
"I'd still like to hear it."  
  
Anthony sat down at the piano, and Sören took a seat next to him. Anthony turned beetroot, smiling shyly, looking almost boyish rather than the suave, commanding professional Sören was used to. It was an adorable transformation, and Sören reassuringly took his hand and kissed it.  
  
Anthony quietly considered for a few minutes what he was going to play, and then he said, "Ah," flexed his hands and fingers, and started. It took Sören a few seconds but then he recognized the piano instrumental to Billie Holiday's "I Wished On the Moon For You", which played in Anthony's car the night after Sören bottomed for him for the first time. It was not a coincidence that after the next big step of trust, Anthony was playing this for him now - trusting Sören in turn, showing him his heart, his soul - and it made Sören's heart soar, brought tears to his eyes.  
  
When the song was over Sören pulled Anthony into a kiss. Anthony's eyes were damp too and Sören grabbed him and kissed him again, harder.  
  
Fresh sheets on the bed be damned, Sören and Anthony stumbled down the hall to the bedroom, kissing all the way, not able to get their pajamas off fast enough before they sank down on the bed. Sören shoved Anthony down on his back, got the lube and readied them both, straddled Anthony's hips, sank down and rode him. Anthony looked up at Sören with all the trust and adoration in his eyes that Sören had tried to express through his, last night, and Sören tousled his hair, stroked his face, slid his hands down Anthony's chest to rest on his heart as he bucked on Anthony's cock, expressing his love and passion with his body, needing them to be one flesh, joined as deeply and intimately as two people could be.  
  
They came together hard, crying out loud now that they were alone in the house, and they kissed passionately as they drifted down from their climax, holding each other, rocking. After petting and tender little kisses the need rose in them again and Sören slipped out of Anthony, kissing him feverishly as his fingers worked inside Anthony's passage, preparing him. Anthony guided Sören's cock to him and Sören took him, slowly. Laying atop him, looking into his eyes, Sören thrust into him, breathing his breath, at last kissing him hard enough to take his breath away. Anthony grabbed onto Sören for dear life and gave it back to him, and Sören stroked Anthony's cock in time with the motion of his own cock in and out of him, Sören hearing himself moan as the silken heat enveloped him, consumed him, too delicious to last much longer.  
  
When Sören got to that point of no return, kissing and kissing and kissing him, he pulled back, met Anthony's eyes again, and growled, "_Komdu fyrir mig._"  
  
"_Sören._" Anthony gave in and let go, coming with a cry.  
  
Sören filled him a few seconds later, shouting with the force of his own release. They were almost sobbing as they shook and gasped in each other's arms, Anthony spending over Sören's sweat-damp flesh as Sören continued shooting inside him. When it was over Sören's head was buried in Anthony's chest, listening to the drum of his heartbeat, its fierce rhythm echoing Sören's own, pounding in his ears.  
  
They snuggled up together, falling into a nap even though they hadn't been awake terribly long - their bodies knew they needed the rest. They were still sleeping when they heard a polite knock at the bedroom door.  
  
"Boys, dinner's almost ready."  
  
They looked at the clock again. It was quarter to five. "Oh shit," Sören said.  
  
They got back in pajamas and shambled downstairs. Anthony threw the sheets in the dryer - Elaine noticed as she was walking past that they were laundering the bedding, but did not say anything. However, when they both sat down to dinner, both Sören and Anthony sat gingerly, and Elaine gave them a knowing look as Roger shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Anthony tried to keep a poker face, and Sören gave a guilty grin, feeling heat flood his cheeks. Elaine and Anthony spent most of dinner talking about Elaine's latest architect job and what Anthony could divulge about the case waiting for him after the holidays, but every now and again Anthony's and Sören's eyes would meet and they would try to not fall into hysterics, exchanging little smirks before Anthony continued conversation.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sören told Elaine after dinner as he insisted on helping with the dishes again.  
  
"It's quite all right, dear," Elaine said, patting him. "I knew when I invited you both to spend the night that you're adults. You didn't disturb us... much."  
  
"Oh god." Sören's face was on fire. When he calmed down he said, more seriously, "I feel like I should say thank you, you know, for being so cool about... well. Me being your son's boyfriend."  
  
"This is 2011," Elaine said. "Besides... as an architect, I have colleagues and clients who are gay or bisexual - aesthetes, you see - and my own mother was an artist, a bit of a _bonne vivante_, her very best friend was a gay man. So I've never had a problem with gay people, just the opposite. But even if I hadn't already had so much exposure to it where it doesn't phase me... you make my son _happy_. I can see it in his eyes, and the way he is with you. If you can give that boy some peace, I don't care if you're male, female, black, white, purple, from Iceland, India, or from the planet Neptune."  
  
Sören couldn't resist, needing levity in the moment of heightened emotion, not wanting to get choked up around Elaine. "What if I told you I'm secretly all of those things at once?"  
  
Elaine laughed, delighted. "This is why my son loves you, Sören." Elaine kissed his cheek.  
  
After watching _Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home_ in the sitting room, Anthony spooning Sören, arms wrapped around him, they showered together and went to bed. As snow fell outside, to the glow of lava lamps, they made sweet, slow love together, first a languid sixty-nine and then Sören taking Anthony, at last Anthony taking Sören. Utterly spent, they snuggled, holding each other's hands.  
  
"I have to work tomorrow morning," Sören grumbled, "so we need to set the alarm."  
  
Anthony nodded. "My chambers re-open on Monday the second. I'm almost suspicious of this free time, I'm not used to it."  
  
"D'you have plans for New Year's Eve?" That was falling on a Saturday night.  
  
"You, if you're free."  
  
"I am, I work overnight shift on Friday but I'll be out on Saturday afternoon. We should ring in the new year together."  
  
"We should."  
  
Sören snickered. "2012, the so-called end of the world."  
  
"We may make that prophecy come true with all the earth-shattering orgasms."  
  
Sören gigglesnorted, and Anthony laughed too. Sören kissed him, smiling, so happy to be with someone who got his humor and was very much the same way. "We're terrible."  
  
"We are." Anthony kissed him back. "And so very, very good together."  
  
Sören kissed him harder and the passion rose in them again, Anthony rolling Sören onto his back, Sören's arms and legs wrapping around him, opening to welcome his lover inside, needing to feel him - feel _them_, the promise of _together_ \- once more.


	9. Louder Than Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for an encounter with homophobes that includes slurs and violence.

Sören whined as the alarm went off. Anthony laughed softly and rained little kisses over his face. Sören gave another whine in protest as Anthony got up - he was so cozy - and then a few minutes later Anthony was gently rubbing his shoulder and Sören smelled coffee. He sat up and took a freshly steaming cup fixed the way he liked it, out of Anthony's hands.  
  
"I woke up before the alarm went off and started a pot," Anthony said, sitting on the edge of the bed, tousling Sören's curls.  
  
Sören scowled at the time. Then he managed a little smile for Anthony. "You're a love."  
  
"Well, I love you." Anthony leaned in and kissed the top of Sören's head. "And I wish you didn't have to go to work tonight."  
  
"You and me both. At least I get tomorrow night free." It was Friday, December thirtieth; tomorrow night was New Year's Eve.  
  
"At least there's that." Anthony sat, watching Sören sip his coffee. "Any thoughts on what you want to do to ring in the New Year?"  
  
"You?"  
  
Anthony laughed. "Besides that."  
  
Sören rubbed his beard. "I honestly hadn't thought about it, since I've been working so much this past week, haven't had much chance to catch my breath..."  
  
Anthony gave a sympathetic little frown and rubbed Sören's knee. "It's been so _weird_, having time off. I barely know what to do with myself."  
  
"Well clearly you've had some idea."  
  
"Some." Their eyes met. "A lot of missing you, wishing you were there to share it with me."  
  
Sören's heart ached. He felt himself get choked up, and didn't want to fall apart and cry when he had to be at the hospital in a bit. "Oh, _elskan._"  
  
When Sören's coffee was finished he went down the hall and showered - alone, since it would be too tempting to call out of work and spend the evening in bed with Anthony; they'd already spent the day in bed, which was why Sören needed another shower. Sören came out in a towel and Anthony, who was reading in bed, groaned at the sight of him. Sören groaned too, looking at Anthony shirtless, wearing glasses.  
  
"Jesus," Sören laughed.  
  
"Mum called while you were showering," Anthony said.  
  
"Oh, did she?" Sören began putting on his scrubs.  
  
Anthony nodded. "She wanted to know if we were coming for New Year's Eve. I told her no."  
  
"Oh... but why?" Sören pouted. "I like your mum."  
  
"So, Christmas Day was small - just you, myself, my parents. My gran was in Tahiti with her 'companion'." Anthony made air quotes. "Christmas Eve, my parents went to see my father's surviving brother, Grant, and his second wife and his kids and stepchildren. Grant and some of my cousins are coming to New Year's Eve at my parents' house."  
  
"OK?" Sören raised an eyebrow. "Why can't I meet the rest of your family?"  
  
"It's not that you can't," Anthony said. He took a deep breath. "My only male cousin, Alistair - the only male cousin I have, it's all girls on my mum's side too - well... Alistair and I don't get on. At all. Alistair Hewlett-Johnson is an Olympic fencer, he won bronze, actually, and he's quite a bit stuck on himself. I prefer to avoid family functions where he's present because it's _that_ toxic. He'll be there at New Year's Eve tomorrow."  
  
"I see." Sören frowned. "I'm sorry that your relationship with your cousin is that bad."  
  
"I am too." Anthony looked down, a touch of sadness in his eyes. "I wanted to be his friend when we were growing up. He rather didn't."  
  
Sören came over and gave Anthony a tight hug. Anthony wrapped his arms around Sören's waist and leaned on him. Sören ruffled Anthony's hair.  
  
"Do your parents know? I mean, why do they keep inviting this guy if they know he makes you uncomfortable and you'll nope out of family functions if he's there?" Sören pulled on the long-sleeve T-shirt he wore under his scrubs, tonight a navy blue.  
  
"That's just it. He's family. It's impolitic not to invite him. And of course, he _will_ show up if he's invited and he doesn't have a prior engagement, like a match." Anthony got up and began to get dressed, since he was driving Sören to work. "I thought I would tell you about my mother's invite, and why I declined - but also that my mother thinks well enough of you to invite you along with me."  
  
"Well, I'm glad." Sören smiled.  
  
"Which leads me to the other reason why I brought up her call - in the same conversation she said that she and Dad would both like us to come to Sunday dinner at least once a month, schedule permitting, if you were OK with that."  
  
"Awwww, that would be nice." Sören felt a bit of relief - he couldn't tell if Anthony's father liked him or not - and he also felt a bit of elation, as if the approval of the parents and wanting them to come around more, as a couple, solidified that this was real, this was serious...  
  
"Good. I was in the habit of going there at least every other weekend before we started dating. Let them feed me." Anthony gave a sheepish smile, since his cooking skills were rather basic. "Mum adores you, and Dad approves of you."  
  
"He does?"  
  
Anthony nodded solemnly. "I know he's hard to figure out - even for someone like myself, who's skilled at reading people - but he does. He said when I was visiting a few days ago, 'You found yourself a good one.'"  
  
Sören hugged him, and Anthony gave him a squeeze and a little kiss before they pulled apart.  
  
Sören took a last glimpse at the gorgeous view of London lit up at night from the panoramic windows in Anthony's flat, before they headed out. When they were in the car, Anthony put on the stereo and asked Sören, "Do you have any preference?"  
  
Sören thought for a minute. "Something to help me keep waking up." He chuckled.  
  
Anthony defaulted to Jamiroquai. Sören began to do a little boogie in his seat, which Anthony smiled at.  
  
"Ugh," Sören said, "this makes me wish I didn't have to go in tonight, even more. Makes me feel like dancing. Mind, I'd probably just... dance around my flat, tidying up. But still."  
  
"You mentioned that you liked going to nightclubs when you were in Reykjavik. That it was therapeutic for you."  
  
Sören nodded with a wistful sigh. "Jæja, dancing helped me get out of my head. I wasn't there just to cruise and find someone to shag - that was a nice bonus. I went there to unleash, to... perform an exorcism, I guess you could call it. It's a very ancient urge, I think, it's why shamans had the status they did in their tribes, they created that rhythm that got people moving, got them out of themselves and to another state of consciousness." Sören looked out the window but he wasn't really looking; he closed his eyes, remembering. "I miss it. I haven't since, well. You know. And you know why. It hasn't been safe."  
  
"What if I went with you?"  
  
Sören looked over at Anthony, who glanced at him before returning his focus to the road.  
  
"You mean the two of us going to a club together?" Sören asked.  
  
Anthony nodded. "I would ensure your safety. There's no pressure, only if you want to, but if you wanted to -"  
  
Sören felt that tight ache in his chest again. "I... I'd like that." He swallowed hard. "You think we could do _that_ for New Year's Eve?"  
  
Anthony smiled. "Absolutely."  
  
"I have no idea what the club scene is like around here -"  
  
"I sort of do. It's not something I've done often, as I'd prefer to bring a date rather than go alone and, well, I've tended to date men not as free-spirited as yourself." He gave Sören's knee a little squeeze. "It's a refreshing change."  
  
Sören's hand rested on Anthony's for a moment. _I hope that novelty never wears off._ Then he caught himself. _Never? That implies there's an always._ And, his heart skipping a beat, arms breaking out in gooseflesh under his long sleeves and his duster, despite the warmth of the car, he knew, then. _This is the one. I want to grow old with him._  
  
It was a realization that was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.  
  
"Anyway..." Anthony's voice cut into his thoughts. "I assume you'd rather go to a gay club or at least one that's gay-friendly?"  
  
"My experience tends to be pansexual-oriented clubs because, well. I'm bi, not that it really matters now, but back then it did." Sören would miss a woman's touch now and again, but he would miss Anthony more. "But if you're not into that, then a gay club sounds like a safer bet, já, if nothing else we're less likely to be harassed there."  
  
"Yeah." Anthony frowned. "It's unfortunate that in 2011 this is something we still have to worry about."  
  
Sören nodded. "So, yeah, gay club... and, oh shit, I'm going to have to stop home and get suitable clothing."  
  
"Are you going to wear something like what you wore on our first date?"  
  
"Já, that was the plan."  
  
"If you give me the key to your flat, I'll stop there, pack up for you, and that way we can save time, you can just get changed at my place and we can go to wherever we're getting dinner, then to the club."  
  
That was a huge amount of trust, but Sören trusted him. He reached for the keyring in his pocket and handed it over. Anthony took it, meeting Sören's eyes, seeming to understand what a big deal this was, that they'd achieved another next level of deepening trust and understanding.  
  
When they got to National, Sören lingered in the car, as he tended to do. After a few kisses that left them flushed and breathless, aching for more, Sören muttered, "I better go before I get too tempted."  
  
Anthony stopped him before he could open the car door. "One last question."  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Do you care if we take the Tube? If we're going out to ring in 2012 at a nightclub I'd like to have a few drinks - just a few, not so much I lose agency in public, but enough to unwind properly, and enough where I'd prefer to not have liability hanging over my head with driving."  
  
"Oh, já, that's fine!" Sören nodded. "Maybe I'll do a little drinking myself." That, too, felt liberating - knowing he would be safe enough with Anthony at his side that he could have a couple drinks in public and not worry about waking up in an alley, used and not able to remember what happened.  
  
"All right. That'll also help me plan where we're going."  
  
Sören gave him a last kiss, and then waved on his way out. "Love you."  
  
"I love you, Sören."  
  
Despite Sören's reluctance to go into work that night, and the usual stress of pulling an overnight shift, he was in good spirits, enough that Pamela the pretty redhaired, thirtyish neurologist noticed when Sören had a break in the morning and she was just getting in. "You're as giddy as a kipper," she said with a smirk.  
  
"What?" Sören gigglesnorted into his coffee.  
  
"Sorry, dear, my Yorkshire is showing. You're in an unusually good mood tonight, got a bit of a bounce to you." Pamela cocked her head to one side. "You still seeing that lawyer who sent you flowers?"  
  
Sören nodded with a happy little sigh.  
  
"It looks good on you," Pamela said.  
  
"What does?"  
  
Pamela grinned, flashing a toothpaste smile. "True love."  
  
  
_  
  
  
The club in Vauxhall was having a retro night for the new year - "retro" here being songs from the 80s and 90s and early 2000s, which made Anthony lament, "I feel old that _this_ is considered old" as they walked in and "This Is How We Do It" by Montell Jordan was playing, which came out in 1995 when Anthony was fifteen.  
  
Sören patted him. "You're only as old as you feel."  
  
Anthony snorted. "That doesn't help."  
  
Sören could tell Anthony was definitely out of his element here, though he looked good - Anthony was wearing the Armani tie Sören got him for Christmas with a steel-blue blazer, black shirt, black trousers, and black pointy boots - and he _smelled_ good, Sören feeling a frisson of arousal just from the touch of his cologne, a little different than what Anthony usually wore, something more aggressive this time. Sören dragged Anthony to the bar, knowing having a drink right away would take the edge off, and on the way there he marveled once again that he felt safe enough to do this, with Anthony at his side.  
  
Sören had a bottle of beer, and Anthony had a hard cider. They watched the men on the floor, and Sören put a reassuring arm around Anthony's waist. "We can't possibly look more ridiculous than that," Sören said, gesturing to some guys a few feet away who were wearing bright neon suits, rainbow feather boas, and lots of glitter. Anthony laughed and kissed his cheek.  
  
Then Sören recognized the opening notes of an Aaliyah song he hadn't heard in years and loved. He made a squeak and grabbed Anthony, dragging him out onto the floor. "This is my jam," Sören said, as Anthony turned beetroot and laughed, but indulged him.  
  
Anthony's self-consciousness at dancing in public quickly melted away as Sören began to sensually grind up on him, the two of them holding each other and finding a rhythm together, looking into each other's eyes as if it were just them.  
  
_Boy, you know you make me float  
Boy, you really get me high  
I feel like I'm on dope  
'Cause you—you serve me on a regular  
  
Boy, we need to tie this rope  
Before we drift any deeper  
Baby, now pull me close  
Boy, let's take this overboard now  
  
I want you to rock the boat  
Rock the boat, rock the boat, rock the boat  
Work it in the middle,  
Work the middle, work the middle, work the middle  
Change positions,  
New positions, new positions, new positions  
Stroke it for me, stroke it for me  
Stroke it for me, stroke it for me_  
  
When the song was over Sören kissed him hard - turned on by the fluid grace of the way they moved together, and Anthony willing to let go, for him. "See? That wasn't so bad."  
  
"I guess not." Anthony kissed him back.  
  
The Aaliyah song was followed by something much older, "Outstanding" by The Gap Band. Sören and Anthony moved across the floor, continuing to let go, be one with the music and each other.  
  
_Girl, you're lookin' sweeter now  
You got it every day, girl  
Wish that I could love you now  
In a special way  
  
You light my fire  
I feel alive with you, baby  
You blow my mind  
I'm satisfied  
  
Outstanding (So outstanding, yeah)  
Girl, you knock me out  
Excited (I'm so excited, baby)  
It makes me wanna shout (Baby)  
  
Gee, I feel so lucky, girl  
To have you all alone  
I really love the way you love me  
Forever I'll be yours  
  
You blow my mind, baby  
I'm so alive with you, baby  
You blow my mind, baby  
You blow my mind, baby, baby  
  
You light my fire {You light my fire}  
I feel alive with you, baby {I feel alive}  
You blow my mind {You blow my mind}  
I'm satisfied {I'm satisfied}  
  
Outstanding_  
  
Sören laughed as Anthony twirled him around, dipped him as if they were alone in Sören's kitchen, no one to judge them. They kissed again at the end of the song, and Sören stroked Anthony's cheek, smiling at the light in his eyes, the way he was coming alive. Sören's laughter rang out when he recognized Earth Wind and Fire, and now Anthony took the initiative, leading him.  
  
_Yeah, hey  
When you wish upon a star  
Your dreams will take you very far, yeah  
But when you wish upon a dream  
Life ain't always what it seems, oh yeah  
What'd you see on a night so clear  
In the sky so very dear  
  
You're a shining star, no matter who you are  
Shining bright to see what you could truly be  
What you could truly be_  
  
Both Anthony and Sören laughed at the opening notes of "Sexual Healing" by Marvin Gaye. Anthony got behind Sören and their hips rolled together, his arms around Sören's waist, hands sliding over him. Sören tilted his face so they could kiss, shivering as Anthony's fingers "accidentally" brushed a pierced nipple through Sören's shirt.  
  
_Ooh baby, I'm hot just like an oven  
I need some lovin'  
And baby, I can't hold it much longer  
It's getting stronger and stronger  
  
And when I get that feeling  
I want sexual healing  
Sexual healing, oh baby  
Makes me feel so fine  
  
Helps to relieve my mind  
Sexual healing baby, is good for me  
Sexual healing is something that's good for me_  
  
"You are so fucking hot," Anthony whispered, before nibbling Sören's neck. Sören moaned, feeling his cock stirring in his leather pants.  
  
The next song did nothing to calm them down, as it was "Pull Up to the Bumper" by Grace Jones. They took turns grinding up on each other from behind, and at last facing each other, bodies close, hands roaming, and Sören could feel Anthony was a little hard as well, felt a frisson at the heat in his eyes.  
  
_Driving down those city streets  
Waiting to get down  
Won't you take your big machine  
Somewhere in this town  
Now in the parking lot garage  
I found the proper place  
Just follow all the written rules  
You'll fit into the space  
  
Pull up to my bumper baby  
In your long black limousine  
Pull up to my bumper baby  
And drive it in between  
  
Pull up, to it,  
Don't drive, through it  
Back it, up twice  
Now that fits nice_  
  
They got hot and heavy enough that Sören decided they needed a break, bringing Anthony back to the bar, where Sören had a second bottle of beer and Anthony had a second hard cider. Anthony shamelessly grabbed his ass while they watched and waited to jump back in, and Sören was tempted to throw him on the bar, climb on, and ravish him. The endorphins had definitely started to kick in, and Sören grinned to himself as he finished his beer.  
  
They took a few more minutes to canoodle, nuzzling and petting; Sören thought about ordering a third beer and then Anthony's face lit up when Jamiroquai came on. Now it was Anthony dragging him on the floor like an excited big kid, with Sören giggling at his exuberance, which was infectious.  
  
_You, give me light  
So tonight, take me there  
I, feel your sun  
Start to glow and I know it  
Let me show you that  
I want your love  
I need your touch  
For the rest, of our time together,  
Baby, come fly with me, eternally  
You and me,  
We were meant to be  
  
Yeah hey  
Alright (right now)  
We'll spend the night together  
Wake up and live forever  
Yeah hey  
Alright (right now)  
We'll spend the night together  
Wake up and live forever_  
  
"You're beautiful," Anthony said, stroking Sören's face, his curls. "Your smile lights up this entire place." He leaned in for a kiss. "The entire world."  
  
Sören kissed him back, harder. "I love you."  
  
"God, I love you."  
  
They got emotional enough by the end of the song that when Luther Vandross played next, it seemed absolutely perfect for how they were feeling, everything about what had led them to this point in time.  
  
_I can't fool myself, I don't want nobody else to ever love me  
You are my shinin' star, my guiding light, my love fantasy  
There's not a minute, hour, day or night that I don't love you  
You're at the top of my list 'cause I'm always thinkin' of you  
  
I still remember in the days when I was scared to touch you  
How I spent my day dreamin' plannin' how to say I love you  
You must have known that I had feelings deep enough to swim in  
That's when you opened up your heart and you told me to come in  
  
Oh, my love  
A thousand kisses from you is never too much  
I just don't wanna stop  
  
Oh, my love  
A million days in your arms is never too much  
I just don't wanna stop  
  
Too much, never too much, never too much, never too much_  
  
Their eyes met and they stole another kiss.  
  
_Woke up today, looked at your picture just to get me started  
I called you up, but you weren't there and I was broken hearted  
Hung up the phone, can't be too late, the boss is so demandin'  
Opened the door up and to my surprise there you were standin'_  
  
Anthony's eyes widened and Sören saw them mist, and knew without him saying it that he was thinking of when Sören lost his phone and went all the way down to Lincoln's Inn straight from his shift at the hospital, tired as he was, just to let him know that he wasn't being ignored - what Anthony feared. Sören grabbed him and kissed him passionately.  
  
_Well, who needs to go to work to hustle for another dollar  
I'd rather be with you 'cause you make my heart scream and holler  
Love is a gamble and I'm so glad that I'm winnin'  
We've come a long way and yet this is only the beginnin'_  
  
"I think we found our song," Sören rasped.  
  
_Oh, my love  
A thousand kisses from you is never too much  
(Never too much, never too much, never too much)  
I just don't wanna stop  
  
Oh, my love  
A million days in your arms is never too much  
(Never too much, never too much, never too much)  
And I just don't wanna stop_  
  
"I think so." Anthony pulled Sören into another deep, needy kiss.  
  
They were both choked up now... and hard for each other. They hadn't been at the club terribly long, and Sören felt a little guilty about asking to go back home, but he felt like he was going to end up mauling Anthony in public if they didn't leave soon. But, as a compromise, Sören led Anthony back to the bar. "One more for the road, and if anything else comes on, we'll have one last dance?"  
  
"Sounds good."  
  
They drank through another few songs, Sören only half-watching the men dancing on the floor, looking over at Anthony again and again, blood boiling, wanting him. _God_, how he wanted.  
  
Their last dance - still holding their bottles of alcohol, not through yet - was to "If You Love Me" by Brownstone, slower and more rhythmic, and also timely, another song that felt perfect with the emotions running high, and Sören thinking to himself _this is the one, I want to settle down with him,_ feeling like they'd suddenly hit a crossroads in their relationship, things had escalated and brought them to another next level, a point of no return.  
  
_I don't wanna rain on this parade  
But I'm starting to question the love that was made  
I'm not looking for just an affair  
I want a love that is based on truth, not just dare  
  
You will not hurt my pride  
If right now you decide  
That you are not ready to settle down  
But if you want my heart  
Then it's time that you start  
To act like you're mine, in the light and the dark  
  
If you love me, say it  
If you trust me, do it  
If you want me, show it  
If you need me, prove it_  
  
"I love you," Anthony said, as if he knew what Sören was thinking.  
  
Sören kissed him, breathless.  
  
_You see now actions speak louder than words  
So don't just say things that I've already heard  
Don't want your body without your soul  
I don't want a love who will come here and go_  
  
"I love you." Anthony kissed him again. "Love you, love you, love you..."  
  
"Let's go," Sören growled, feeling like he was losing his mind with the lust and longing, need rising in him hot and fierce. It would be a wonder if they made it off the Tube without losing control somehow. They danced and kissed their way out to where their outerwear was being kept.  
  
The chill of the night air was welcome after the heat of the club and Sören's own almost-unbearable body heat in his arousal. Sören watched as his breath steamed the air. Anthony finished his bottle of cider, tossing the glass in the recycling bin near the club; Sören was still working on his beer, though he was almost done. Anthony put an arm around him as they marched in the direction of the Tube station, and though they tried to calm down, it wasn't long before they were kissing each other again, laughing, nuzzling and petting, lost in a moment of perfect joy and wonder of the magic they'd captured together.  
  
That was when trouble started. As they approached a bus stop, taking a short pause from kissing and petting, they saw four young white men - none older than thirty, most in their early twenties if Sören had to guess. Two of the four had heads shaved bald, and the other two had very short buzz cuts. They were all smoking cigarettes - Sören could smell them before he saw them, ready to retch. A couple of them were drinking cans of beer. Sören got an uneasy feeling from the four young men that he couldn't quite put his finger on, except that they were all _staring_ as Sören and Anthony came closer, arm in arm. They'd definitely seen Sören and Anthony engaged in public affection a few meters back.  
  
"Faggots," sneered one of the men.  
  
Sören felt like he could spit. Anthony's grip tightened on Sören. "Just keep walking," Anthony muttered. "Eyes straight ahead..."  
  
Then one of them chucked their beer can at them, which hit Anthony and spilled over his greatcoat. One of the bald ones got right in their path, blocking them.  
  
"Going somewhere?" The bald one made a face. "Going off to bugger each other?"  
  
"Clearly, _you_ find the subject of interest," Anthony said without humor. He attempted to steer Sören diagonally so they could walk around the man blocking them. But then the bald man shoved Anthony hard enough that Anthony almost fell backwards. And when Anthony came forward, a look of pure fury on his face, fists clenched, and Sören could tell he was ready to fight back, two of the men rushed towards him.  
  
"_Þið huglausir, ógeðfelldir tíkur synir!_" Not thinking, only feeling rage, heart pounding, Sören got between Anthony and the two men about to attack him.  
  
Sören grabbed one, headbutted him as hard as he could, and when the man dropped to his knees, Sören punched him in the gut, shoved him to the ground, and kicked him when he was down. "_Fjórir á móti tveimur? Lætur það þér líða eins og raunverulegur maður, já?_"  
  
The other lunged for him and got in a few punches - the side of Sören's face, Sören's gut - and then Sören looked at the beer bottle still in his hand and it came down over the bald head. "_Rassgat! Veðja að þú sért bara öfundsjúkur að vinir þínir muni ekki ríða þér í rassinn!_"  
  
With the broken bottle in his hand, and the man's head bleeding from the glass cuts, Sören hollered, finding his English again, "Take one more fucking step towards me and I'll fucking shank you." He was a surgeon, after all, he knew where to stab someone to maim or even kill, though he was hoping it wouldn't have to come to that.  
  
The bald man, of course, paid that no mind, grinning, and before Sören could stab him with the bottle, now Anthony pounced and grabbed the man's nose, hard, and with his free hand he tugged an ear hard enough to make the man cry out before a knee to the groin, dropping the man as the first one had dropped.  
  
_He fights dirty,_ Sören thought to himself, impressed. And he was a little aroused by the sight of Anthony fighting back, as well.  
  
The bald man who had blocked them came back over to Anthony and threw a punch, with Anthony dodging, then he grabbed the man's arm and wrenched it before giving a hard shove, sending the man spinning into the fourth man of the group just before the other man could punch him. Sören rushed to them, watching them ready themselves for more, and before Sören could spring, Anthony said, his tone icy, "Step aside, please."  
  
Sören did as he was told and watched as Anthony produced a tiny spray bottle. He shook it and just before the two men could fall on them and attack again, Sören watched as Anthony sprayed a red marker dye in one face, then the other, with the men having to protect their faces from the spray, reeling from the sting in their eyes, making noises. Then Anthony grabbed Sören and began marching them away as fast as he could, with the men jeering after them, "FUCKING FAGGOTS! FILTHY ARSE-FUCKERS! DIE OF AIDS, YOU FUCKING BUM-LOVERS!"  
  
Sören watched as Anthony put the spray back in his pocket. "That's... that wasn't pepper spray, was it?"  
  
"No, that's illegal here." Anthony then muttered, "Unfortunately." More loudly, he said, "I just used what's called a 'criminal identifier' spray, which _is_ legal. That dye will be on them for a good few days, even if they try to wash it out."  
  
"I take it you've had some experience using it."  
  
Anthony gave a curt nod. "Once in a great while my job gets... interesting." Anthony pointed ahead. "The station isn't far, love."

"You're not going to call the police?"

"No, not this time - that might cause problems for us too. And hopefully they'll have learned from this experience that some of us _faggots_ actually fight back, might make them think twice." Anthony glared in their general direction.  
  
As they waited for the next train, Sören felt the sickening drop in adrenaline. Anthony's arms were around him as he shook, breathing hard; when Sören felt an asthma attack coming on it was Anthony who reached in Sören's pocket for where he knew Sören kept the inhaler, and handed it to him, petting him as Sören puffed. "There," he said softly. "Train is coming soon. We're almost home."  
  
Sören leaned on him and Anthony's arms tightened around him. Anthony held him the entire ride home, rocking Sören in his arms, not caring who saw them, making little soothing noises.  
  
When they got to Anthony's flat, Anthony told Sören, "Undress, I'll get you some ice for those bruises."  
  
The adrenaline surge and the drop had been enough that in the fight and on the train home, Sören hadn't really felt where he'd been punched. But now he did, wincing as he stripped down. Anthony came in the bedroom with two makeshift ice packs and he handed them to Sören as he began to undress. Once Anthony was in pajamas he joined Sören on the bed and held an ice pack to Sören's stomach so Sören could better hold the pack on his face.  
  
"You're going to have quite a rainbow on your face tomorrow," Anthony said, lips quirking. "I hope your colleagues don't think I beat you."  
  
"I'll tell them you only beat me in the fun way."  
  
Anthony's laughter rang out and he stole a little kiss. Then he gave Sören a stern look. "Sören. What you did back there..."  
  
"You had better not be lecturing me about violence, Anthony Hewlett-Johnson, since you got some licks in yourself."  
  
"It's not that." Anthony's eyes narrowed. "You..." He took a deep breath. "They were coming at me and you got in the way. You shielded me."  
  
"Don't give me that macho crap about how I shouldn't -"  
  
Anthony silenced him with a kiss. Then Anthony said, his tone softer, "I'm touched that you were willing to put yourself in harm's way for me." He tilted Sören's face to his, stroked the non-injured cheek, his eyes soft and sad. "No one's ever done that for me before."  
  
"You're my partner," Sören said, hoping those words explained everything, finding it odd that someone _wouldn't_ do that for their partner.  
  
Anthony kissed him again, harder. They kissed again and again, with Sören finally giving a moan into the kiss as his cock leapt. Anthony noticed and smirked, his free hand reaching to gently rub the bulge in Sören's boxer-briefs.  
  
"It's funny you think I would lecture you in any way about self-defense," Anthony said, his voice husky. "Especially when you were so hot out there." He claimed Sören's mouth fiercely, and then he began to kiss Sören's neck, making Sören whimper and shiver, cock twinging again. Anthony's hand rubbed him more insistently. "I've got my very own Viking."  
  
"You were pretty hot yourself," Sören rasped. "I didn't know you could fight."  
  
"No, of course not. People don't expect the pretty lawyer boy to be able to hold his own. It can be useful when people underestimate me, just as it can be useful when people fear me." Anthony's eyes flashed. "For the record, I've taken some self-defense courses out of... necessity. Again, my job has been interesting at times."  
  
"I bet." Sören stroked Anthony's face. "I didn't mean to offend you -"  
  
"I know. And you didn't, really."  
  
"If I did, you could just... take it out on me." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.  
  
Anthony kissed him roughly with a growl, shoving Sören back against the pillows. The sensuality of the nightclub and the aggression of the fight made a volatile mixture, exploding into passion as Sören found himself rending the fabric of Anthony's pajamas, giving Anthony an evil grin as the silk ripped and dropped to the floor. Anthony bit Sören's neck in response, and then nibbled and licked his way down before he took the waistband of Sören's underwear in his teeth and yanked it down in his teeth, Sören moaning as his hard, aching cock sprang free. When Sören's boxer-briefs were down his thighs, Anthony came up and snatched them off, kissing Sören feverishly as he removed the offending barrier between them.  
  
It was Sören's turn to bite back, biting Anthony's shoulder, making him cry out. Then Sören rolled Anthony onto his back, Anthony giving him a feral look as Sören rose, reaching for the lubricant. Just as Sören was about to push slick fingers into him Anthony grabbed Sören's wrists and shoved Sören onto his side, and the two struggled for dominance, hard cocks rubbing against each other, kissing, biting, grabbing. Sören pinned Anthony on his back and smirked against the little whimper Anthony made into the kiss as Sören's fingers pushed inside him as intended, Anthony fucking himself on Sören's fingers once they found the sweet spot inside him.  
  
A moment later Sören's cock was in him, Sören kissing him hard. Sören showed no mercy, rocking into him hard and fast. Anthony bucked underneath him, biting him, growling, making primal guttural noises, nails scratching Sören's back and ass and the backs of his thighs, the sweet sting of his nails driving Sören wild, fucking him harder. They didn't last long, Anthony shattering within minutes, screaming Sören's name as he shot over Sören's stomach, and Sören bit his neck, making Anthony sob as another load spent out of him. Sören hadn't come yet - close to it, as he felt Anthony contracting around him - and after more hot, fierce kisses Anthony ground out, "Again," and Sören propped a leg up on his shoulder and gave it to him even harder than before, his own voice rising with his lover's. Sören heard himself losing his English again as he rasped, "_Taktu það eins og maður, eins og þú ert minn, sýndu mér hversu villtur þú ert._"  
  
"Oh _god._" Anthony's nails dug into Sören's hips. "Oh, _shit_..." His hips rocked back against Sören's, and Sören gave a deep, animal grunt, pounding into him harder.  
  
"_Það er það. Ég mun ríða rassinum þínum eins hart og þú getur tekið._"  
  
"Sören." Anthony shuddered. "_Sören_..." His breath hitched, and Sören could see it in his eyes. Anthony came again with a cry, and now Sören came too as he watched Anthony's cock spurting, felt the hot seed splash over his chest and stomach, felt the sweet clenching around him, saw the look of ecstasy on Anthony's face as he trembled, gasping for breath.  
  
Sören settled down, giving Anthony a few kisses and then laying on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. He slipped out, and Anthony collected some of the still-leaking cum on his fingers and stuck them in Sören's mouth, Sören sucking his fingers as Anthony pet him. Sören felt arousal building again at the act of sucking Anthony's fingers, feeling his touch, and soon enough Anthony was ready to go again, taking his fingers out of Sören's mouth, grabbing Sören's curls, and maneuvering to get behind him. Sören gasped out "yes, yes, _yes_," as he felt lube poured over him, and gave a cry of "_YES_" as Anthony pushed into him.  
  
Anthony took him hard, riding Sören's ass, pulling Sören's hair. "Oh god, fuck me," Sören cried, bucking underneath him. When Anthony sank down, his chest against Sören's back, his teeth on Sören's neck and shoulder, Sören screamed, working his hips and ass back at Anthony even harder than Anthony was fucking him, needing it, utterly consumed by savage lust. Anthony tilted Sören's face to his and kissed him hard, and bit Sören's lower lip. "I love you," Anthony growled, and kissed him hard again, overtaking Sören's rhythm, plowing into Sören with mad, fierce abandon.  
  
A minute later, when Anthony kissed the bruises on the side of Sören's face, Sören climaxed, almost ashamed of the inhuman noises coming out of him as he gave in. "Sören," Anthony called out just before he spent into him, and Sören gave a shuddery sigh at the sweetness of feeling Anthony's molten flow deep within him, claiming him.  
  
The euphoria of orgasm combined with all of the earlier emotions of the evening and Sören erupted into hysterical laughter. Anthony laughed too.  
  
"Oh my _god_," Sören wheezed. "Oh my fucking god, what is with us."  
  
"I don't know, but I like it." Anthony tenderly kissed Sören's bruised cheek.  
  
Eventually they rolled onto their sides - Anthony still behind him - and Anthony reached for the ice pack that had been on Sören's stomach, melting but still reasonably cold. His arms around Sören's waist, he held it there, and Sören dozed off a little. He stirred, giving a whine of protest, when he felt Anthony get out of bed, and then Anthony came in with ice water and ibuprofen for Sören to take, and fresh ice packs. He turned off the light after Sören took the items out of his hands, the nightlight glowing enough for Sören to see what he was doing.  
  
"My hero," Sören quipped as he downed two ibuprofen with the water.  
  
"I feel that way about you, not jokingly." And then Anthony looked at the clock by the bed. "Wow, we got so caught up in... ravaging each other... that we completely missed it being midnight."  
  
"Is it 2012 now?"  
  
"It's 2012 now." Anthony settled in bed beside him. "Happy New Year."  
  
"_Gleðilegt nýtt ár, elskan mín._"  
  
They kissed, and laughed, and kissed again. Then they got back into a spoon position, with Anthony holding the ice against Sören's stomach with one hand and his face with the other, and sleepiness settled over Sören once more.  
  
In the middle of the night the throbbing of Sören's bruises woke him up. Anthony was still spooning him, but had fallen asleep at some point and the ice packs were no longer in his hands. Needing to feel him as much as he could, Sören reached out to put his hands on Anthony's arms and they slid down to Anthony's hands. Anthony's breath hitched and he mumbled incoherently, then, "Sören?"  
  
"Jæja, didn't mean to wake you, sorry."  
  
Anthony's arms tightened around him. "S'OK." Anthony squeezed. "You're so warm and cozy."  
  
"Mmmmm, I like feeling you snuggled close to me."  
  
Anthony cleared his throat, and he reached to tap Sören's shoulder, which made Sören giggle, and then Anthony's hand settled back over him and he said, sounding slightly more awake now, "As you were falling asleep I was thinking."  
  
"About?"  
  
"I want you to move in with me."  
  
Sören was not expecting that. "Oh."  
  
"I... know it's soon, but -"  
  
"No, Anthony, it's OK. I... I want to." Sören's heart soared, remembering the feelings he'd had earlier that evening - _this is the one, I want to settle down with him._ Living together was a step in that direction.  
  
"Oh, _good._" Anthony gave a little sigh of relief. "It would be more convenient and practical, less travel time with having to go to and from your flat, and... well..." Anthony squeezed him again. "I need you with me."  
  
"You've got me, _elskan._" Sören heard the huskiness in his own voice, and the tears came, silently. _Yes. Yes, this is what I want, this is who I want, this is the life I want, yes..._  
  
Anthony tilted Sören's face to his and kissed him. What was supposed to be a sweet little kiss between two sleepy lovers in the middle of the night quickly heated and Sören moaned as he felt Anthony go hard against him.  
  
"Make love to me," Sören whispered. "Just like this."  
  
Anthony slipped into him, the passage eased by Sören being open and slick from earlier. He went much more slowly and gently than before, and it was just right, with Sören as sensitized as he is. Sören moaned, and Anthony did too, before he kissed Sören's neck and shoulder.  
  
"We can work out details tomorrow," Anthony whispered. "Though I'd like to have you moved in by next weekend -"  
  
"We'll work all that out." Sören patted him. "Right now is not lawyer time. It's lover time."  
  
Anthony laughed. "Sorry." He tilted Sören's face and kissed his mouth, the two groaning as their tongues teased and played. Anthony's hand strayed lower, to stroke Sören's hard cock. Then the other hand brushed a nipple, pebbled in the night air, making Sören gasp.  
  
It wasn't long before Anthony was moving inside him faster, tormenting Sören with kisses over his sensitive neck, rubbing his aching nipples, the pleasure around Sören's cock and inside him mounting. When Sören felt himself _right there_, he warned, "Anthony, don't stop, I'm gonna -"  
  
"Yes, darling. Come with me."  
  
They came together, kissing, moaning and crying out into the kiss. Anthony's fingers moved up from where he was teasing Sören's nipples to stroke his face, and the hand that had been on Sören's cock was on his heart, now, such tenderness that it brought tears to Sören's eyes.  
  
Anthony squeezed him and whispered, "Welcome home."


	10. Kisses of Fire

Sören's landlord was good enough to prorate rent since Sören would only be in his flat in Bromley a few days into January; on the evening of Friday the sixth Anthony drove Sören and his belongings from Bromley to Kingston upon Thames, making a stop at Sören's landlord's office for Sören to turn in the key. Anthony immediately filled the place on Sören's keyring with a key to his own flat. Sören didn't have much to bring over, since he'd left Iceland only with what he could fit into suitcases on a plane and hadn't acquired much more in the way of personal possessions since then - mostly bedding and the print of Van Gogh's "Starry Night" hanging on his wall; Sören's studio flat in Bromley was pre-furnished. Sören had packed everything the night before, and almost hadn't gotten to sleep in his excitement about taking this big step forward with the man he loved.  
  
As they drove from Bromley to Kingston upon Thames, Sören detected a lingering scent of roses in Anthony's car and he wondered if Anthony had gotten a new car freshener, but he was too tired to ask about it, having had an exhausted fourteen-hour shift. He just snuggled into the microfleece blanket Anthony had started keeping in the car to make him feel cozy and give him a chance to rest on drives, listening to jazz playing softly on the car stereo.  
  
Anthony insisted on bringing in Sören's belongings himself, giving Sören an extra few minutes to rest, and at last he came back for Sören, turning off his car. Sören giggled as Anthony picked him up and carried him a few paces through the front door, and then he gasped when he saw what waited for him inside. "Oh, my _god._"  
  
"I took a detour home from work," Anthony explained.  
  
"_I guess so._"  
  
The open plan kitchen and living room was filled with a dozen bouquets of a dozen roses. Sören _squeaked_ with happiness, tears brimming his eyes at Anthony wanting to welcome him home in such a beautiful, romantic way. When Anthony put him down on the floor Sören threw his arms around him and spun him around and around, sobbing, screaming. Anthony laughed and rained kisses over Sören's face, then gave him one deep, hungry kiss with a look in his eye that let Sören know he meant business.  
  
Then Anthony said, "Wait here."  
  
Sören obediently stood in the living room, tapping his foot, as Anthony went down the hall. He was gone for a few minutes, which made Sören suspicious. Then Anthony came back, wearing just a bathrobe, and after he instructed Sören to take off his leather duster and hang it up, he began to undress Sören right there in the living room, as Sören giggled and said, "_Anthony_, what are you up to..."  
  
"Who says I'm up to anything?" Anthony gave him an innocent face.  
  
"You're terrible at bullshitting me, you know that."  
  
Anthony winked, and when Sören was stripped down to his boxer-briefs, Anthony collected the clothes from the floor and brought them down to the laundry basket in the hall, then he grabbed Sören's hand and led him down the hallway. Sören gasped as he saw rose petals scattered on the hall floor, and again when he stepped into the bedroom - their bedroom, now - and the bed was freshly decked out with silk sheets, rose petals scattered from the floor to the bed, over the sheets. There were six more bouquets of roses in the bedroom. Votive candles and tealights were lit around the room, champagne was chilling in a bucket near two flutes, and there was an assortment of finger foods also being kept cold near the champagne, including fresh fruit - berries and pieces of citrus and tropical fruit. Sören noticed vanilla-flavored massage oil near the usual bottle of lube, and sexy music was playing softly in the background; Sören smiled as "Sexual Healing" by Marvin Gaye came on.  
  
"I wanted both to welcome you home properly and take care of you after a long week," Anthony said, walking Sören over to the bed.  
  
"Jæja, you've had a long week too."  
  
Anthony kissed Sören and gently nudged him along onto the bed. "It is my pleasure to do nice things for you, my love. Really."  
  
Sören and Anthony started by feeding each other, eating from each other's hands and fingers, kissing and nuzzling between bites of food. When they got to the fruit, Sören licked and sucked the juices from Anthony's fingers and palm, and when there was a little bit of fruit left Sören shoved Anthony down on his back, arranged the fruit over his chest and stomach, and ate it off his body, licking the juices off him, making Anthony laugh and moan and shiver, petting Sören's curls as he feasted. Before Sören could take Anthony's cock into his mouth, Anthony pushed him away gently, chuckling, and poured them each champagne.  
  
"To the first chapter of our life together," Anthony said softly.  
  
"To coming home," Sören husked. "This is where I belong. With you."  
  
They clinked glasses, drank champagne, and kissed. When their glasses were drained, Anthony had Sören lay on his stomach, and he rubbed and kneaded the tension and knots out of Sören's neck and shoulders and arms and back and ass and thighs, his hard cock sliding in the crack of Sören's ass, making Sören ache for him even as he melted away, feeling like his body and mind were going elsewhere underneath the tender touch. And as Sören lay on his back and Anthony's hands worked over his shoulders and arms and chest and stomach and hips and thighs and knees and calves, body singing with pleasure and need, the look of love in Anthony's eyes took Sören's breath away, made him reach up to stroke Anthony's face, ruffle his hair, and at last, pull him down into a passionate kiss.  
  
"Here," Sören said. "I want to take care of you, too." At Anthony's protest of "this is for you," Sören wagged a finger and scolded, "Don't lawyer me right now, Anthony Hewlett-Johnson. I insist."  
  
Anthony pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and rolled his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. "If you _must_." His eyes gleamed, and the little smirk he gave let Sören know he didn't mind.  
  
"I must. Here." Sören patted the space next to him.  
  
Anthony lay on his stomach and Sören poured oil over his back and got to work. Sören was already aroused from receiving a massage, and giving one just turned him on even more. "You have a really nice back," Sören said.  
  
Anthony laughed into the pillows. "That's a _very strange_ compliment, but I'll take it."  
  
"Oh, I mean... all of you is nice." Sören's hands slid down to cup and rub the curve of Anthony's firm, taut ass, before sliding back up to Anthony's back. "Like that arse of yours is lovely. But wow, you've got a nice back. These are things I notice, I guess, performing spinal surgery and drawing people."  
  
It felt like in the just-over-a-month they'd been together that Sören had explored Anthony's body dozens of times already, but it felt new tonight, with Sören paying closer attention than usual, as if committing every small detail to memory. When Anthony lay on his back, moaning softly as Sören's hands caressed and rubbed and soothed and teased everywhere they could touch, Sören's eyes fixated on a scar on Anthony's left thigh that he'd seen before, but this was the first time he'd really _noticed_ it. It was faded, suggesting an old scar, and it was clean and precise, which told Sören it wasn't from a stabbing - Sören would otherwise have to wonder, with the risks in Anthony's line of work - but was either from a surgeon's scalpel or a self-injury wound, and Anthony didn't have other scarring that indicated the latter. Sören's finger lovingly ran over the scar, and he thought about asking about it, but he didn't want to pry, and the way Anthony was breathing raggedly and moaning, his eyes glazed over, told Sören he wasn't really in a position to handle serious questions beyond "how do you want it?", anyway. So Sören put that thought on file, before he dove down to take a few loving licks at Anthony's hard cock, now leaking a generous amount of precum.  
  
"Oh god, Sören."  
  
Sören smiled and lapped more insistently, tongue teasing the slit before his lips wrapped around the head, tongue swirling as he sucked, kissing the head of Anthony's cock, making Anthony groan. When Sören swallowed his cock down deeper, Anthony's breath hitched, and Sören moaned around the cock in his mouth, his own cock throbbing, when Anthony reached to grab a fistful of Sören's curls, arching to him.  
  
After a few minutes Sören was sucking at him with hungry abandon, cupping and rubbing the tightening balls with one hand, stroking himself with another, lost in lust at the sound of Anthony's moans and the look on his face as Sören pleasured him. And then Anthony grabbed Sören's hair harder than before, pulling Sören off his cock.  
  
"I said I wanted to take care of you, did I not?" Anthony's eyes locked with his.  
  
"Jæja... and I'm enjoying myself." Sören grinned and, not able to help himself, took a teasing lick at the head of Anthony's cock, chasing more precum with his tongue, his cock and hole both twinging at the way Anthony moaned at that.  
  
"Sören... you always put everyone ahead of yourself." Anthony sat up. "Lay down, and let me love you."  
  
Sören laughed softly. He stopped laughing at the deadly serious look on Anthony's face - a look that sent heat surging through Sören's body, cock and hole throbbing again, _wanting_. He did as he was told, but the sight of Anthony's cock as Anthony repositioned himself was too tempting and Sören gave it a few more strokes.  
  
Anthony got off the bed, and Sören watched as Anthony went into the bedroom closet and pulled out a charcoal grey cashmere scarf. "You don't listen too well," Anthony said, coming over with the scarf.  
  
Now Sören's cock really throbbed, jolting as Anthony came closer. Anthony's lips curved at the sight of Sören responding, knowing what the scarf meant. Sören heard himself make a desperate little whimper, and Anthony laughed as he got back on the bed. He stroked Sören's face and cupped Sören's chin with his hand; Sören sucked his thumb. "That's right," Anthony said. "_Now_ you're going to lie back and let me take care of you."  
  
With that, Anthony grabbed one of Sören's arms, and wrapped Sören's hand around a slat in the headboard. Anthony tied Sören's wrist, smiling as Sören moaned. Sören moaned again as Anthony tied his other wrist. "Try the bonds," Anthony said. Sören attempted to move his arms and it was determined the binds were neither too tight nor too loose.  
  
"Now then..." Anthony leaned in and kissed Sören passionately, both men moaning into the kiss.  
  
Sören was almost embarrassed by the noises he made as Anthony made good on his promise to take care of him. Anthony kissed and licked Sören's neck and throat and shoulders, then spent a long time teasing Sören's pierced nipples, making Sören howl and writhe against the restraints, panting, begging "oh god, _please_" as Anthony's lips, tongue and teeth feasted, pebbling Sören's nipples, teasing them into aching, swollen peaks, every lash of tongue and nibble of teeth and brush of thumb making Sören's cock twitch, almost painfully hard in its need. Eventually Anthony moved on to kissing and licking the rest of Sören's chest, his stomach, down one hip and thigh and behind one knee, then back up and across Sören's stomach to the other.  
  
"You're beautiful," Anthony whispered, hovering over Sören's cock, and then he began to lick. And lick, and lick, tongue-bathing Sören's cock, teasing and teasing, tormenting so sweetly that Sören almost cried.  
  
But that was nothing compared to what came next. When he'd been worshiping Sören's cock with his tongue for a few minutes - moments that felt like an eternity - Sören let out a strangled sob, and Anthony laughed at him, delighted by his reaction, and spread Sören's legs. Sören screamed as Anthony's tongue danced on the sweet spot between his balls and ass, and then Anthony's tongue was inside him and it was so good it almost _hurt_. Anthony's tongue was like a hurricane, and then so gentle, feather-light. He licked fast then slow, fast then slow, Sören's broken cries rising louder and louder, bucking, trembling, pleasure and tension building so deep and so high it felt like he could explode and implode at the same time from the immensity of sensation. Nothing had ever felt this good, and nothing had ever been so hot as the way Anthony enjoyed him, eating him like he were the most delicious dessert, savoring him. Every time Sören thought he was going to climax from that tongue working its evil magic, then Anthony changed rhythm and took it even higher, even deeper, dangling Sören on that edge, seeing how far Sören could go, how thoroughly he could be wrecked. Being bound - being made to surrender, made to let go - just added to why it was so all-consuming.  
  
And at last Sören felt himself hurtling towards that point of no return. Sören hadn't been able to make words for some time now, only wild, feral noises, but now he found his words again, just not in English. "Anthony... _elskan, ekki hætta!_"  
  
Anthony didn't speak Icelandic, but he seemed to get the gist of what was being said, responding with "mmmmmmm" as he licked more insistently.  
  
"_Ó guð. Ó guð, meira, ekki hætta, meira, ekki hætta, ekki hætta, ekki hætta..._"  
  
"Mmmmhmmmm. Mmmmmmmmm...."  
  
"_Ég er svo nálægt, svo nálægt, svo fokking nálægt..._"  
  
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Mhmmm. Mmmmmm..."  
  
Sören quivered, feeling himself bearing down, his orgasm about to spring. The last of the storm of passion was gathering in him. A few shuddering gasps, frantic panting, and then Sören cried out, "Anthony! _Ég ætla að koma, ég ætla að koma, ekki hætta, láta mig koma!_"  
  
The final few seconds of the exquisite rubbing inside him and Sören came hard, screaming wordlessly as his body shook and heaved, toes curling, making a mess all over himself as he shot again and again. Anthony came up to clean the mess with his tongue, and Anthony's tongue on Sören's sensitized cock made his orgasm even more intense, Sören wailing as he shot again, this time making a mess over Anthony's neck and throat. Anthony laughed, seemingly delighted, and he came up to kiss Sören hard, Sören moaning at the taste of himself. Anthony grabbed Sören's curls and directed him to clean up the mess, and as Sören licked at Anthony's neck and throat, Anthony made a primal noise that made Sören hungry again, not wanting to be done just yet.  
  
And they were far from done. With Sören still bound, Anthony got the lube. He kissed Sören roughly, grinding against his thigh as he worked two slick fingers into him, then three, Sören whimpering into the kiss at the rubbing on his sensitive prostate. When Anthony knew Sören was ready, he began to push inside. Sören loved that feeling of being taken while bound, giving a deep sigh of contentment when they were fully joined.  
  
Anthony moved inside him slowly, sensually, teasing them both. He played with Sören's cock and the other hand rubbed and pinched and plucked Sören's nipples, tugged on the rings, knowing by now what Sören liked. When Anthony kissed and nibbled Sören's neck, hands working more insistently, Sören almost came again, overcome by lust and sensation.  
  
And then their song came on, and tears came to Sören's eyes, feeling so much love, everything aligning so perfectly.  
  
_I can't fool myself, I don't want nobody else to ever love me  
You are my shinin' star, my guiding light, my love fantasy  
There's not a minute, hour, day or night that I don't love you  
You're at the top of my list 'cause I'm always thinkin' of you  
  
I still remember in the days when I was scared to touch you  
How I spent my day dreamin' plannin' how to say I love you  
You must have known that I had feelings deep enough to swim in  
That's when you opened up your heart and you told me to come in  
  
Oh, my love  
A thousand kisses from you is never too much  
I just don't wanna stop  
  
Oh, my love  
A million days in your arms is never too much  
I just don't wanna stop  
  
Too much, never too much, never too much, never too much_  
  
"Fuck me," Sören breathed. "Take me."  
  
Anthony claimed his mouth again and then claimed the rest of him, moving harder, faster. Sören rocked his hips, matching Anthony's rhythm. And when Anthony rose, one of Sören's legs on his shoulder, Sören bucked even harder, overtaking his rhythm, for Anthony to outmatch Sören, once again in charge. Sören lost himself in the delicious rubbing inside him, the hungry lust on Anthony's face, the noises they made as they gave in to that most ancient, primal need, the need to rut, the need to mate, and yet somehow even at its most profane it was sacred, Sören feeling as free and alive as he'd ever felt, trusting someone so deeply to take him where nobody else ever had, into realms of pleasure and passion he never thought possible.  
  
Sören's second orgasm was as good as the first if not better, and the feeling of Anthony coming inside him - _hearing_ him as he shattered - was so incredibly rewarding, making him feel as warm and glowy as the candles burning around him. Anthony untied Sören's wrists and Sören flexed his wrists and wrapped his arms around his beloved, snuggling close to him. "You were magnificent," Anthony husked.  
  
"You were fucking _amazing_." Sören kissed him hard.  
  
They cuddled, needing to recharge. They had a second glass of champagne, and when Sören spilled a little on himself, Anthony cleaned it with his tongue. That led to Sören "accidentally" spilling some on Anthony to lick off of him, and soon enough they were both hard again, rubbing against each other, kissing fiercely.  
  
Anthony lay on his back and pulled Sören on top of him. "Your turn," he said, and handed the lube to Sören, grinning.  
  
Sören's fingers played inside him as they kissed, and at last Sören took him. For all that Sören wanted to return the same loving care, keeping the pace slow, he was too worked up and found himself slamming into him, feverish - which was just what Anthony wanted. He wrapped his legs and arms around Sören, nails scratching Sören's back, kissing Sören hard, biting Sören's neck and shoulder between kisses. "Yes, yes, _yes_..." Anthony gave a little growl as he bit Sören again.  
  
Sören loved it, thrusting into him even harder. "_Taktu það. Taktu það, þú fokking hani druslan._" Sören kissed him again and again, moaning as their tongues licked together between kisses, letting out a cry when Anthony nibbled his neck. "_Ástin mín. Ég get ekki fokking fengið nóg af þér, yndislega ríða druslan mín._  
  
"Sören." Anthony shivered and Sören gave him a wolfish grin, knowing Icelandic was his weakness. "Oh god, Sören..."  
  
"_Elska þig. Elska þig svo mikið, ég ætla að gera þér fokking koma svo mikið fyrir mig._"  
  
"Sören. _Sören._" Anthony's nails raked his back again, and Anthony gave a deep, fierce grunt, trembling, bucking underneath him harder, breath ragged.  
  
The sweet sting of Anthony's nails urged Sören on faster, pounding him into the mattress. Anthony cried out, nails scratching Sören again, who growled and now it was Sören's turn to bite him. Anthony took Sören's face in his hands and kissed him hard, breathless, both men crying out into the kiss, and then Anthony reached and put Sören's hand on his cock, grabbed Sören's hair with the other hand, giving Sören a look that let Sören know who was still in charge. Sören growled and Anthony growled back, kissing Sören harder, fucking himself furiously on Sören's cock even as Sören stroked him in time with their hips.  
  
"Don't stop," Anthony commanded.  
  
Sören growled again, kissing him.  
  
"Sören." Anthony gave a shuddery gasp. "Oh god, Sören."  
  
"_Yes._" Sören could see it in his eyes, could hear it in that gasp, the catch of Anthony's breath, the little quiver against him. "Fuck, yes. That's it."  
  
"Oh god, _Sören._" Anthony's eyes glazed over. His nails were in Sören's back again. "Sören. _Sören_..."  
  
Anita Baker's voice was so apt for this moment, Sören smiling as he watched it unfold.  
  
_I'm in love, sweet love  
Hear me calling out your name, I feel no shame  
I'm in love, sweet love  
Don't you ever go away, it'll always be this way_  
  
"Oh. My. God. Sören. _Sören._" A last shudder, a sharp exhale and a cry, before the final "_Sören!_"  
  
As soon as Anthony began contracting around him, shooting over their stomachs and chests, Sören's own climax overtook him, emptying into his lover with a deep, satisfied grunt that felt like it was coming from the molten center of the Earth itself, erupting with the scorching heat of his release. They took each other's hands and kissed, trembling together, the pulse of Anthony around him and the pulse of Sören within his lover seeming to go on forever, endless, the push and pull its own force of nature.  
  
They clung to each other, not able to make words, and indeed, no words were needed. Sören managed to give Anthony a smile before he plummeted into sleep.  
  
At some point, Anthony had gotten up and the stereo was off, the candles were out; Sören felt Anthony get back in bed and take him back into his arms.  
  
"I love you," Sören mumbled.  
  
"I love you." Anthony kissed the top of Sören's head, gave him a tight squeeze. "I'm so glad you're here with me."  
  
Even though he was only partly awake, Sören went there. "Hi Glad You're Here With Me."  
  
Anthony swatted Sören's ass.  
  
  
_  
  
  
The next few days passed by in a dreamlike haze. Anthony drove Sören to work on Saturday and Sunday, and on Saturday night they went out to a restaurant late, and on Sunday they got takeaway; Sören began to unpack his belongings and put them away, with Anthony giving Sören half the bedroom closet for his clothes.  
  
On Monday, Anthony had to go to work before Sören did, which meant Sören would be taking the Tube there, but when Anthony's alarm went off, Sören stirred awake and Anthony stole a sleepy kiss, Sören grinning at him before he dozed off again. When Sören's alarm went off, he let out a whine at the emptiness in the bed, and after yawning and rubbing his eyes for a moment he found a handwritten note at the bedside:  
  
and Sören found a handwritten note, elegant cursive, at the bedside:  
  
_I love that your beautiful brown eyes are the last thing I see before I fall asleep at night and the first thing I see when I wake up. Thinking of you will help me get through court today._  
  
Sören gave a happy little sigh, holding the note to his heart. He felt a bit self-conscious about it - it was an inanimate object - but it was something his lover had given him, a piece of his heart.  
  
One of the items Sören had brought from the flat in Bromley was a hollowed-out book that Sören had gotten specifically to keep dried petals in from the first bouquet of roses Anthony had given him, which were sitting in a gauzy satchet bag. Now some of the petals of the eighteen bouquets Anthony had gotten to welcome Sören home were being dried, to eventually add to their own bag to place inside the box. The card from the first bouquet was there, and Sören tucked the note inside as well. He kissed the lid of the book-box after the note was safe inside.  
  
Sören knew Anthony wasn't going to feel like dealing with people after a day in court, even if he won, so when he was on his break he texted Anthony about dinner, offering to cook. Anthony felt guilty about Sören cooking when he'd been on his feet all day, and Sören compromised by saying he'd make something simple.  
  
They still had to go grocery shopping when Sören got off work, which Sören had always hated doing when he lived alone, but somehow, doing this with Anthony felt comforting - he realized it was an act of nesting, being domestic together. Anthony seemed to pick up on that as well, his arms around Sören as Sören pushed the cart around, adding this or that.  
  
When they got to the flat and Sören got out of the car, before he went to the trunk to help Anthony unload groceries, he took a few minutes to breathe the crisp night air, the cold air feeling invigorating, a second wind that he needed after the long day. Anthony also seemed to intuitively understand Sören needed a few moments to breathe and just be, and he came over and put an arm around Sören. The view of the Thames lit up at night even from here on the ground was gorgeous, making Sören feel wistful, even moreso when Sören looked up and there was a shooting star. Anthony took Sören's hand and Sören heard himself sigh, remembering that the last time he'd seen a shooting star was when he lived in Iceland...  
  
...under the northern lights, fire in the sky. As much as Sören felt bitter about what happened in Reykjavik, no longer thinking of Iceland as his home, he couldn't help but _ache_ because prior to the rape, Iceland _had_ been his home. He was a part of the land, and the land was a part of him, and it was still in him bone-deep, soul-deep, there was still that longing for the shape of the land that had shaped him...  
  
"Sören." Anthony stroked Sören's face, looking concerned. "What is it, love?"  
  
"Oh." Sören gave a nervous laugh, ran his hand through his curls, rubbed his beard, stared down at his Doc Martens. "Nothing."  
  
"_Bullshit._" Anthony glared as he popped the trunk and went over to take a bag of groceries. "It's _something_. Sören, don't 'nothing' me when I ask you what is it, you can't lie to me..."  
  
"OK, _fine._" Sören huffed as he grabbed a bag of groceries. Anthony closed the trunk firmly but didn't slam it, which let Sören know he wasn't quite angry, just a little irritated, but Anthony's glare quickly gave way to concern again, softness. "I just... got a little homesick, is all." Sören quickly added as they walked to the door, "I mean, this is home now, but..."  
  
"No, Sören, I get it. Well..." Anthony gave a sad little smile. "Not that I _get it_, as I've lived my entire life in London apart from when I went abroad years ago, but... it's perfectly normal for you to miss where you're from."  
  
They went inside. Sören grasped at levity, his default coping mechanism. "Oh, you mean I did a normal people thing for once?"  
  
"Yes, just this once." Anthony grinned, and Sören laughed; Anthony laughed with him. Then Anthony was all concern again. "Are you quite sure you don't want to visit Iceland...?"  
  
Sören nodded vehemently. "I... I don't feel safe. I mean, yes you'd be with me, and I feel safe with _you_, but it's just..." Sören sighed deeply. "Too soon, too raw, too much..."  
  
"Oh, sweetheart." Anthony stopped unloading groceries and came over to give Sören a fierce, tight hug. "I'm so sorry."  
  
"I know." Sören patted him. Sören felt a lump in his throat, and he didn't want to fall apart now. He got right to work, assembling the ingredients for the omelette, and "scrubbed in", then proceeded to chop the vegetables. Chopping fast and furious, as if he were stabbing whoever it was who cut him away from the world he'd known.  
  
  
_  
  
  
On Tuesday night Sören had to work an overnight shift; early Wednesday morning, Anthony texted Sören a little while before his scheduled break to let Sören know he was coming to the hospital for Sören's break. Sören was touched, since he knew Anthony was getting up earlier than usual for this.  
  
The cafe was just starting to open, and it was just Anthony there, with a cup of coffee for each of them. Anthony was already dressed for work - he'd be going straight to Lincoln's Inn after he left the hospital; his greatcoat was draped over a chair and Sören grinned at the sight of him, impeccably handsome in a charcoal grey suit with waistcoat, and the navy tie Sören had gotten him for Christmas. Anthony rose when he saw Sören approaching, smiling back at him as he held out his arms. "Brown Eyes."  
  
Sören giggled and ran to him, breathing a little sigh as Anthony pulled him close and held him tight for a moment, rocking him. Sören still felt that tiny flutter in his stomach with him, and Anthony's presence gave him the rush he needed to make it through the second half of his shift even before the caffeine.  
  
They sat down. "It's sweet of you to meet me here," Sören said.  
  
"I missed you." Anthony gave a sad little smile. "I didn't sleep well without you there, besides."  
  
"Awwwwwww..." Sören reached across the table and squeezed his hand. Then he accepted the coffee and took a few seconds to breathe in the coffee aroma, before he drank. "Oh, that's nice. I needed this, _elskan._"  
  
"I thought you might. How are things going?"  
  
Sören shrugged. "Going, pretty much. Got a couple sleep studies to monitor, we had an emergency trauma patient... the usual. After your work day starts, I have a couple scans lined up, and a spine surgery before I go home."  
  
"Is it appropriate to say 'good luck' with surgery? Is 'break a leg' better?" A wry grin. "'Break a spinal cord'?"  
  
Sören gigglesnorted and kicked Anthony under the table. "I'm not superstitious at all, and I don't believe in luck but I'll accept the well wishes anyway."  
  
"You should take a nap when you get home. Want me to bring home anything in particular?"  
  
"Whatever you feel like, but Indian or Thai is always nice."  
  
"All right."  
  
They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, drinking coffee, playing footsie under the table, and then over the intercom someone paged, "_Doctor Khan. Doctor Khan._"  
  
Without thinking about it, Sören quipped, "Doctor Khan let me rock you, let me rock you, Doctor Khan, let me rock you, that's all I wanna do..."  
  
Anthony almost spat his coffee. "God, Sören. Now Chaka Khan is going to be in my head all morning."  
  
"There are far worse earworms to have."  
  
"There are, and you had better _not_." Anthony reached across the table and tweaked Sören's nose; Sören gave him an innocent face that wasn't innocent at all.  
  
"I will be so bloody grateful to have this weekend off," Sören said, frowning into his coffee. "Friday can't get here fast enough." Having the Chaka Khan earworm himself, Sören remembered the fun they had New Year's Eve with a little wistful sigh. "Hm, maybe we could go to a club on Saturday? I liked that... well, apart from the gay bashing on the way home."  
  
"I did too. But actually, that's part of why I came here, I have news for you." Anthony's eyes twinkled and Sören knew he was up to something, and was impressed he'd managed to conceal that this far into the visit.  
  
"Oh, do you now."  
  
"This weekend, we are going to Stockholm."  
  
Sören's eyebrows shot up. He put down his coffee. It took a few seconds for it to register and then he _squeaked_, got up, came right over and hugged Anthony, making happy noises as Anthony squeezed him and laughed.  
  
Sören sat back down, closer to him. "Stockholm? Really?"  
  
Anthony nodded. "I know you were homesick Monday night, I know you miss the northern lights. I can't guarantee that the aurora will make an appearance while we're there, but we have a better shot of seeing it there than we do staying put here, and... it's the closest I can come to giving you a little taste of home without it being Iceland."  
  
Sören couldn't recall specifically mentioning that his longing when he looked up at the shooting star was for the aurora, even though he'd certainly been _feeling_ that, and he got a funny little prickle at the back of his neck, gooseflesh over his arms under his long sleeves. But he was as touched even more than he was unsettled that Anthony somehow _knew_, and Sören took Anthony's hands and kissed them, before throwing his arms back around him again, making more happy noises. "You're the best, _elskan_. Thank you so much. I love you..."  
  
"I love you. We'll be flying in Friday night and coming back Sunday evening, which isn't a huge amount of time but it's something?"  
  
"It's definitely something." Sören leaned in to give him a kiss. "You're definitely something."  
  
  
_  
  
  
As they got ready to go to the airport on the evening of Friday the thirteenth, double-checking that they had everything, Sören said, "I can't believe this is happening. In a good way." He came over and gave Anthony a hug. "I love you so much, this is amazing."  
  
Anthony laughed and tousled Sören's curls, kissed his brow and the tip of his nose. "I hope you enjoy it there. Truthfully, this trip is for me as much as it is for you. When I took time off from school to see the world for a bit, I toured western Europe, and I spent a longer amount of time in Stockholm than I did anywhere else."  
  
"Really?" Sören raised an eyebrow. "What prompted that? It's pretty there, and lots to do, já?"  
  
"Well, yes, but it was a bit personal for me as well." Anthony's cheeks turned pink, and he looked a little wistful.  
  
Sören had a feeling he knew what that meant. "Oh, boyfriend?"  
  
"That implies it was serious and, well, no. It was a fling, but not a relationship." Anthony looked out the panoramic window at the Thames and the city of London lit up at night, and Sören knew he wasn't looking at the riverfront so much as he was looking into his own memories. "He was older. Like... old enough to be my father, older. I was in my very early twenties, and he was in his fifties. Swedish, tall, grey haired, bearded. Great shape for his age."  
  
"_Nice._" Sören licked his lips without thinking about it. "I've always had a thing for silver daddy types. Haven't gotten to fuck many of them, but..."  
  
Anthony nodded. "Mikael was definitely that type. We had fun - enough that I stayed in Stockholm a bit longer than anticipated. I honestly would have moved there if he'd asked me to, back then, I was fairly smitten with him, but he was the one who told me I shouldn't tie myself down at that age, he should just be a fond memory. And... I have no regrets." He turned back to Sören, his face a deeper pink now.  
  
"That's very sweet," Sören said, and then he added, "and very hot." The thought of Anthony having sex with an older "daddy" type did things to him. The thought of turning it into a threesome... _Oh, fuck._ Sören shivered, his cock twinging. "Do you still keep in touch with him?"  
  
"No, he didn't want me to be attached, for which I can't blame him. He had a life and I needed to find my own."  
  
Sören wondered if he should suggest possibly he and Anthony going cruising on Saturday night to find a "silver daddy" to have a threesome with - if maybe with their respective hours, Anthony might be better served having a second partner to get his rocks off with once in awhile...  
  
...but then before he could bring it up, Anthony went on, "Even if we were, though... I'm with you. And when I'm with someone, I'm with someone. You're the one I want." Anthony took Sören's hand and kissed it.  
  
_Well, so much for that idea._ But Sören could live with it. A hot "silver daddy" type for them to play with was a nice "possibly to have" fantasy, but not mandatory. _Besides, if we were going to go there, I'd rather it be a Frenchman, not a Swede._ Sören had a weakness for the French. The thought of a silver-haired-and-bearded Frenchman in bed with them... fantasy though that would remain, it was still a delicious one. _We better get out of here before I drag Anthony to bed and we miss our flight._  
  
When they arrived in Stockholm, they went straight to their hotel, taking a cab. Sören was even more impressed by Anthony's command of Swedish than he was with Anthony's fluency in French, as Swedish was a bit closer to home for him linguistically, and he smiled at the not-quite-familiarity of hearing another Scandinavian language.  
  
Anthony had spared no expense, getting them into a five-star hotel that had a jacuzzi in the room and they even had a key to a private sauna, with the sauna rooms out in back. "We can do the sauna tomorrow?" Anthony asked on the way to their room.  
  
"That sounds good," Sören said, and then with a nervous chuckle as they got in the elevator, he added, "I've never been in a sauna before."  
  
"_Really._"  
  
"We have hot springs in Iceland... I have plenty of experience with those. Saunas, not so much, that's more of a Swedish, Norwegian thing. But I'm looking forward to it!" Then Sören gave a sigh, feeling guilty about his reluctance to go back to Iceland. "I'm sorry. You'd like Iceland, probably, and I wish I wasn't so fucking... broken... so we could go..."  
  
Anthony pulled him close and pet him. "You have nothing to be sorry for, my love. You didn't ask for what happened, and... there are plenty of other places we can go, plenty of things to see in the world." Their eyes met. "I'd like to share where I've been, with you. Pieces of my life. It makes me feel closer to you, letting you in on something that was very private to me."  
  
"Awwwwww." Sören leaned on him, and then, overcome by emotion and not wanting to cry in the elevator, he found himself defaulting to humor to cope. He broke out in song. "_I can show you the world..._"  
  
"Oh no."  
  
"_Shining, shimmering, splendid... tell me princess now when did you last let your heart decide?_"  
  
"Sören, they'll deport us."  
  
They laughed all the way to their hotel room. Sören stopped laughing when they got in and he saw the view of Stockholm, letting out a low whistle. Anthony came over and put an arm around Sören's waist, and kissed him.  
  
Tired as they were from the long day they both had, they weren't quite ready for bed, and decided to unwind by getting in the hot tub, where they snuggled, drinking champagne. Sören quietly marveled at how surreal his life was now, going from poverty in a tiny town in Iceland, to being whisked off for weekend trips around Europe, canoodling in a hot tub, drinking champagne like it was water. It was something that he never would have dreamt possible for himself when he was younger, not even as recently as a few years ago when he'd made it as a doctor and had a decent flat in Reykjavik and could live comfortably, if not extravagantly. _It's like I've fallen through a looking glass, into a fairytale._  
  
After their cuddle in the hot tub they had a sweet, languid sixty-nine, and, sated, tangled up together and drifted off to sleep. In the morning when the alarm woke them up, they started their day kissing, rubbing their cocks together, Anthony's hand covering Sören's as he took them both in his fist and stroked them to climax. Anthony tasted them from Sören's fingers, and Sören tasted them from Anthony's mouth, the two laughing softly as they rocked each other, legs entwined - it felt good to be alive. For at least a little while, all was right with the world.  
  
They went down to the hotel restaurant for a light breakfast, and then they got in what sightseeing they could in the limited time they had. Anthony and Sören looked at City Hall and the Royal Palace, and Stockholm Cathedral. They went to Skansen, the open-air museum that housed five centuries of historic buildings and dwellings, and Sören felt both nostalgic for all of the ancient history preserved back in Iceland, but also comforted that here, too, in a sister-nation, the past was important.  
  
Sören and Anthony chatted about that as they walked around, hand in hand. "I almost took Ancient History instead of Linguistics," Anthony said, "but I thought languages would be more practical in a law career - no need to use a translator if I had international clients."  
  
"So you did, what, a diploma conversion?" Sören was still trying to wrap his head around the way things worked in the UK compared to Iceland's school system.  
  
Anthony nodded. "That, too, was a matter of practicality, it was an easier route."  
  
"Do you regret not going for history?"  
  
"Yes and no? I don't regret becoming a lawyer. I might very well have become an archaeologist if I hadn't been compelled to law when I was younger, between what happened with my uncle and my own sad tale of defending myself against -" His voice trailed off and he looked away, wincing a little. Sören thought about asking, curious and a little concerned, but he knew not to press a sore spot, and it would be up to Anthony to say anything more about it or not. Anthony just patted his arm and they kept walking. "Ancient history still fascinates me. I was a bit of a nerd about it, growing up. I'm a product of the times we're in and I don't romanticize the past, I wouldn't want to live in the days when being what I am is illegal, or where life expectancy would be dramatically shortened with diseases we can prevent now, but I still find myself drawn to learn about the people who went before us, anyway."  
  
"I imagine you would have made a good archaeologist. The same wanting to examine things, pick things apart and uncover the truth, that happens in the courtroom, já?"  
  
"Especially eras that were misunderstood, misrepresented in some way, or peoples and places that were underappreciated as being particularly pivotal to history, setting the record straight... I suppose that's a recurring theme in my life." Anthony chuckled, looking a little sheepish. "If I believed in anything, like past lives, I'd start to wonder if maybe I had a past life where I had a famous brother or brothers and I was the 'boring' one according to history and that part of me saying 'hey, I was _interesting_, dammit!' isn't compensating now by this perverse, consuming need to prove others wrong and challenge assumptions and 'facts' that aren't actually so."  
  
Sören giggled, and he gave Anthony a tight hug. "Awwwww, _elskan_. I don't find you boring in the slightest. I couldn't imagine you as ever being boring."  
  
Anthony returned the hug. "And from where I stand, you're the more interesting of the two of us." He played with a lock of Sören's curls. "I find you fascinating."  
  
"Well, I find _you_ fascinating, _elskan_. You're not just a... flashy rich boy, a stuffy suit." Sören thought about the way he'd almost dismissed Anthony at their first meeting at National - which seemed like ages ago, even though it had just been November - and was glad he didn't. "There's depth to you, and I will never get tired of exploring it."  
  
Anthony grabbed his face and kissed him hard, right in the middle of a very public place, lots of onlookers and passerby. Sören threw his arms around Anthony's neck and kissed him back, and when they pulled apart, breathless and giddy, Anthony said, "Come on, there's something I think you'd love to see."  
  
They took the ferry to Djurgården, and Sören howled with laughter as Anthony dragged him to the ABBA Museum. As they waited in the queue, Sören started laughing all over again.  
  
"Nothing says 'depth' like ABBA," Sören giggled.  
  
"Nothing says 'serious professionals making a difference in the world' like going to the ABBA Museum."  
  
"Anthony Hewlett-Johnson, this is the gayest thing I've ever done in my life."  
  
"Good."  
  
They leaned on each other in hysterics, attracting some glares from other people in the queue who clearly thought waiting in line to see an ABBA museum was a serious affair, and after Anthony and Sören quieted down they stole a look at each other, smirking, mischief dancing in their eyes.  
  
"Utmost decorum for ABBA," Anthony said, nodding solemnly.  
  
"Very dignified. No funny business here, nope." Sören tried not to have another gigglefit. "Hey, this is so somber you should have brought your wig and robes."  
  
"_No._" Now Anthony glared, but his eyes betrayed his amusement. "I could actually get in trouble for that, it's against our code of conduct to wear that outside the courtroom."  
  
"Jæja, 'cos then the, ah... fashion police... would come arrest you guys and you'd be tying up your own legal system having to defend each other."  
  
Anthony lost it again, turning bright red, shaking, tearing up. "Sören, I swear to _god._"  
  
"You know... I really want to see you in it." Sören was giggling too. "The wig. The robes."  
  
"No. No you don't."  
  
"Yes, I do. You're going to show me one of these days." Sören started poking him. "You can't wear it in public, I guess because it looks too silly to be legal -"  
  
Anthony facepalmed, laughing harder.  
  
"But nobody's going to know if it's at home, in private."  
  
"I'll feel ridiculous. It's one thing to wear it in the courtroom - it's like going on stage, assuming a role, it helps me get into a completely different mindset. And the court won't be swayed by the price of my suit, but by my arguments. It's another thing to wear it in front of someone who isn't one of my brethren, knowing it looks completely daft outside of that context."  
  
"Oh, please? After a long, crazy week at work it's just the sort of thing I need to remind me the entire world isn't malfunctioning brains and spines and nerves."  
  
"Really? I'd have thought seeing me dressed up like that would in fact remind you the world is malfunctioning brains..."  
  
Now it was Sören's turn to explode into laughter, and Anthony laughed with him. Sören stroked Anthony's face, pleased he was with someone who shared his sense of humor.  
  
Then Anthony said, "I will next time you have a weekend off, if you... if you do something equally ridiculous."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
Anthony shrugged. "Surprise me."  
  
Sören grinned. "You're on."  
  
The ABBA Museum was a delight - Sören giggled at the wax statues of ABBA, and the mannequins wearing their well-known, so-disco-era-it-hurt outfits from the 1970s. He howled appreciatively at Björn Ulvaeus's over-the-top "Malmberg" guitar, and poked around with curiosity at the recreations of their studio and makeup rooms.  
  
"I feel, like, twenty percent more gay now," Sören said on their way out.  
  
"Only twenty percent?"  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
They got dinner after that - it was already pitch dark, and bitter cold. Anthony had a platter of assorted fish with a side of cucumber salad, and Sören had a smoked salmon open-faced sandwich. They shared a piece of lingonberry-apple cake that Sören made a mental note to research the recipe of later, and Sören indulged in a bit of Absolut - not enough to lose agency, just enough to lower his inhibitions, make the world seem more electric, make him louder, more animated.  
  
While waiting for a cab to take them back to the hotel, Sören wanted hot chocolate, so they each got a cup, and took it in the cab. Sören snuggled on Anthony in the cab ride home and Anthony pet him, which made Sören feel especially warm and cozy. He eventually felt too warm, between his outerwear, Anthony's proximity, the heating in the taxi, and the alcohol, and he asked Anthony if they could get out at an approaching park a few blocks away from the hotel and sit for awhile in the fresh air and walk to the hotel when they were ready. Anthony nodded.  
  
The park was a winter wonderland, trees covered in ice and snow, snowdrifts glowing in the streetlights and the fairy lights around the park. There was an ice skating rink in the park and Anthony and Sören found a bench and watched the skaters. Sören was in a very good mood, and the vodka had loosened him up just enough that he felt like singing when he finished his hot chocolate.  
  
_Friday night and the lights are low  
Looking out for a place to go  
Where they play the right music, getting in the swing  
You come to look for a king_  
  
Anthony turned red, shaking with silent laughter. "Oh my god, Sören."  
  
_Anybody could be that guy  
Night is young and the music's high  
With a bit of rock music, everything is fine  
You're in the mood for a dance  
And when you get the chance  
  
You are the dancing queen  
Young and sweet, only seventeen  
Dancing queen  
Feel the beat from the tambourine  
Oh, yeah  
  
You can dance, you can jive  
Having the time of your life  
Ooh, see that girl, watch that scene  
Digging the dancing queen_  
  
A few passerby stopped and came round, clapping and swaying, encouraging Sören to keep singing.  
  
_You're a teaser, you turn 'em on  
Leave them burning and then you're gone  
Looking out for another, anyone will do  
You're in the mood for a dance  
And when you get the chance  
  
You are the dancing queen  
Young and sweet, only seventeen  
Dancing queen  
Feel the beat from the tambourine  
Oh, yeah  
  
You can dance, you can jive  
Having the time of your life  
Ooh, see that girl, watch that scene  
Digging the dancing queen  
  
Digging the dancing queen_  
  
Sören got wolf whistles and applause when the song was done, and he took a bow. Then someone saw the empty hot chocolate cup that Sören hadn't gotten around to throwing away yet and threw some coins in, and another put in paper money. Sören shrieked with laughter - tickled rather than offended that people thought he was a street performer - and, to Anthony's amusement, Sören continued on with another ABBA song... singing to Anthony.  
  
_My, my, at Waterloo Napoleon did surrender  
Oh yeah, and I have met my destiny in quite a similar way  
The history book on the shelf  
Is always repeating itself  
  
Waterloo - I was defeated, you won the war  
Waterloo - promise to love you for ever more  
Waterloo - couldn't escape if I wanted to  
Waterloo - knowing my fate is to be with you  
Waterloo - finally facing my Waterloo_  
  
Anthony gave Sören an adoring look, even as he was also in hysterics from Sören's over-the-top, eat-your-heart-out-Freddie-Mercury performance. Sören continued belting out the song, with more onlookers gathered round, clapping and dancing.  
  
_My, my, I tried to hold you back but you were stronger  
Oh yeah, and now it seems my only chance is giving up the fight  
And how could I ever refuse  
I feel like I win when I lose  
  
Waterloo - I was defeated, you won the war  
Waterloo - promise to love you for ever more  
Waterloo - couldn't escape if I wanted to  
Waterloo - knowing my fate is to be with you  
Waterloo - finally facing my Waterloo  
  
So how could I ever refuse  
I feel like I win when I lose  
  
Waterloo - couldn't escape if I wanted to  
Waterloo - knowing my fate is to be with you  
Waterloo - finally facing my Waterloo  
  
Waterloo - knowing my fate is to be with you  
Waterloo - finally facing my Waterloo  
Waterloo - knowing my fate is to be with you_  
  
People in the crowd were calling out "_Mer!_" and "_Annan!_" and Sören got more money in his paper cup. Sören thought one more couldn't hurt.  
  
_Lay your head on my chest so you hear every beat of my heart  
Now there's nothing at all that can keep us apart  
Touch my lips, close your eyes and see with your fingertips  
Things that you do, and you know I'm crazy 'bout you  
  
Kisses of fire, burning, burning  
I'm at the point of no returning  
Kisses of fire, sweet devotions  
Caught in a land-slide of emotions  
I've had my share of love affairs but they were nothing compared to this  
Oh, I'm riding higher than the sky and there is fire in every kiss  
Kisses of fire  
Kisses of fire_  
  
Sören's own face was burning now, feeling cheesy and overly sentimental yet this was the way to show his heart, in this moment.  
  
_When you sleep by my side I feel safe and I know I belong  
Still it's making me scared that my love is so strong  
Losing you is a nightmare fate and to me it's new  
Never before did you see me begging for more  
  
Kisses of fire, burning, burning  
I'm at the point of no returning  
Kisses of fire, sweet devotions  
Caught in a land-slide of emotions  
I've had my share of love affairs but they were nothing compared to this  
Oh, I'm riding higher than the sky and there is fire in every kiss  
Kisses of fire  
Kisses of fire  
  
Kisses of fire, burning, burning  
I'm at the point of no returning  
Kisses of fire, sweet devotions  
Caught in a land-slide of emotions  
Kisses of fire, burning, burning  
(I'm at the point of no returning)  
Kisses of fire, sweet devotions  
I'm riding higher than the sky and there is fire in every kiss  
(Caught in a land-slide of emotions)  
Kisses of fire, burning, burning  
I'm at the point of no returning  
Kisses of fire, sweet devotions  
Caught in a land-slide of emotions_  
  
The crowd clamored for more but Anthony was giving Sören that eat-you-alive look and Sören said, "Sorry, that's all for tonight!"  
  
Anthony and Sören got up to walk to the hotel, arm in arm, laughing. "You are the silliest thing in existence," Anthony told him between kisses, "and somehow also the sexiest."  
  
"_Takk._" Sören smirked. "I think we're even now, and you have to show me your wig and robes next time I've got a weekend free."  
  
And then, into another kiss, Sören froze, eyes widening. Anthony stopped, making a noise of concern, and Sören just pointed up.  
  
Though Anthony couldn't guarantee they'd see the northern lights on their trip, there it was, shimmering green and cyan with little touches of gold and fuchsia. No matter how many times Sören had seen an aurora borealis each one was its unique light show, nature's perfect pyrotechnics, and Sören's breath was taken away every time. Now moreso than ever, Sören's entire body breaking out into gooseflesh and chills, because he was here with the man he loved, sharing this magical moment with him.  
  
"My _god._" Anthony's breath hitched.  
  
"You were here before, have you ever seen an aurora?"  
  
Anthony shook his head. "I was in Scandinavia for the summer, the midnight sun. Not this."  
  
"So this is your first time?"  
  
Anthony nodded. "I've seen photos but... live and in-person is so much... more." His voice was hushed with awe.  
  
Sören squeezed his hand, tears coming to his eyes. When he looked at Anthony, he could see his lover looked about ready to cry too, and that made Sören love him even more.  
  
They couldn't stop kissing in the elevator ride to the hotel room, completely overcome by the power of what they had just witnessed, and their own feelings for each other - Sören felt like they had discovered some sort of enchantment with their bond, as strange and ridiculous as that seemed to his skeptical, scientific mind, the artist part of him felt they'd touched something that was bigger than both of them, somehow.  
  
It was enough that Sören felt like he could break, and didn't want to spend the evening crippled by tears - even tears of joy - and especially when they'd had such a lovely day. Sören once again needed humor to cope. He got out one of his mp3 playlists, entitled "Europop Trash", and queued it up on the stereo. He'd meant to select a song by ABBA, but accidentally hit Ace of Base, which was just as well for what he was about to do.  
  
Sören began to do a striptease for Anthony Hewlett-Johnson... to "The Sign" by Ace of Base. Anthony's reaction was a mixture of amusement at Sören's continued antics, and genuine lust for Sören dancing, undressing, putting on a show just for him. When the song was over Anthony pulled the now-naked Sören close to him - Anthony was still fully dressed - and he kissed Sören hard, reaching for Sören's erection, stroking gently.  
  
Anthony quickly undressed and they got in bed together. Sören had forgotten to turn off the stereo as they fell in and the random shuffle on the stereo kicked in and just as Anthony and Sören started kissing, the stereo began to play  
  
_I'm a Barbie girl in the Barbie world  
Life in plastic, it's fantastic!  
You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere  
Imagination, life is your creation  
Come on, Barbie, let's go party!_  
  
"Oh, _sweet baby Jesus._" Anthony let out a scream into the pillows, wheezing, turning bright red, holding his sides, tears streaming down his face.  
  
Sören gigglesnorted, and then he began to do a dance on the bed, shaking his naked ass.  
  
_I'm a Barbie girl in the Barbie world  
Life in plastic, it's fantastic!  
You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere  
Imagination, life is your creation  
  
I'm a blond bimbo girl in a fantasy world  
Dress me up, make it tight, I'm your dolly  
You're my doll, rock'n'roll, feel the glamour in pink,  
Kiss me here, touch me there, hanky panky...  
You can touch, you can play, if you say, "I'm always yours."_  
  
"Help..." Anthony rolled off the bed.  
  
Sören had to turn off the stereo. "Are you all right? I didn't mean to kill you."  
  
Anthony attempted to get up, hanging on the side of the bed, and he had to sit on the floor for a moment, trying to pull himself together.  
  
"Smooth, Sören. That was... suave." Anthony shook his head, still laughing.  
  
"So now the question is... which one of us is Barbie? I'm guessing it's you." Sören snickered. "Trying to picture you with long blonde hair..."  
  
"Jesus _Christ_, Sören."  
  
Somehow, Anthony made it back on the bed. Sören pinned Anthony, laying on top of him. "There, now I've got you and you can't fall off again." With that, Sören rained kisses over his face.  
  
They resumed kissing as before, all silliness forgotten as their passion took over, and soon Sören was riding Anthony's cock, bouncing wildly, his screams as loud as their laughter had been, if not louder. The euphoria of the evening made Sören feel more sensitized than usual, and when he climaxed he came hard, making a mess all over Anthony and himself, deeply gratified when Anthony came hard too, crying out Sören's name, and then just crying, pleasure so good it brought him to tears. Sören kissed his tears, pet him, and was moved to tears of his own. They held each other and rocked together. Usually they needed more than one round to slake their thirst, but this time the one was enough, completely shattering them, and when the tears calmed down and the blinding ecstasy and awe gave way to quiet, radiant joy, they drifted off to sleep.  
  
In the middle of the night Sören stirred awake - his body wasn't used to sleeping for long periods of time and would wake him up at least once - and he got up to take a look out the window, taking in the view of Stockholm at night, still feeling a touch of surreality that he was here on a tiny holiday.  
  
Then, after a couple of minutes, Anthony made a little noise of protest and mumbled, "Sören, come back to bed."  
  
Sören got back in bed and Anthony pulled Sören close against him, grabbed him tight. "Need my blankey," Anthony said, clearly half-asleep still.  
  
"Oh, I'm your blankey now?"  
  
"Mhm. So warm." Anthony kissed Sören's shoulder. "Safe."  
  
Sören felt a tug at his heart, a sharp ache. He'd already figured out he felt somewhat protective of Anthony, having seen his vulnerability that day Anthony confessed his love at Lincoln's Inn, then again when Anthony played piano for him, so shyly and sweetly, at his parents'. Sören felt protective enough to get in the way of attackers without thinking about it. Where the world might not think the suave, lacquered professional needed someone to watch over him, Sören knew on some level he did - Anthony took care of him, and he took care of Anthony. And in the truth of those barely-awake words, they touched Sören as deeply as any flowery poetry did.  
  
_I am my beloved's, and he is mine._  
  
  
_  
  
  
They hadn't gotten to do the sauna on Saturday as planned, but it was just as well because they slept in Sunday and had time for only one last real "Swedish experience" before they had to go to the airport to fly back.  
  
The private sauna had wooden walls, floors, and benches. It was clean, though Anthony and Sören put down towels on their benches anyway, since Sören's conditioning as a surgeon was to see germs everywhere.  
  
Though Sören and Anthony both noted they had an aversion to hot weather and it seemed odd they'd deliberately inflict high temperatures on themselves, the sauna was a very different experience. Sören started to feel deeply relaxed in the steam, like a bunch of lingering tension was melting out of his body, as well as general malaise and a sense of miasma he carried with him day to day. Anthony looked noticeably at ease, and Sören couldn't help staring at him, enjoying how peaceful he looked.  
  
Then Sören enjoyed the view for an entirely different reason, feeling arousal coming on at the sight of Anthony glistening from sweat. Sören was slick with sweat too, and soon enough he noticed Anthony noticing him, that familiar predatory look in his eye.  
  
Sören came closer, and they began to kiss, hands roaming, caressing. When Anthony started kissing Sören's neck, he reached for Sören's hard cock and Sören moaned, grabbing Anthony's cock and playing. With their free hands they continued wandering, exploring, teasing, wanting to touch and feel every inch of each other that they could.  
  
Sören's internal jury was out about how safe certain positions were in the high heat, or how much exertion past a certain point was safe. But they were both too far gone to not take care of their needs in their somehow, and the steam heat seemed to make Sören's skin feel more sensitive, more reactive, even as his lust burned hotter for the sight of his lover sweat-slick, the intoxicating smell of sweat and arousal, something deliciously male.  
  
Sören found himself getting on his knees and taking Anthony's cock into his mouth, sucking greedily as Anthony moaned, panted, grabbed Sören's damp curls. When Anthony began to gently fuck Sören's mouth, moaning louder, it was all Sören could do to not come right there, loving that feeling of being under his control. And when Anthony came in his mouth he seemed to taste better than usual - he always tasted good, but now Sören gave a deep "mmmm" as he swallowed, licking his lips, loving it, licking Anthony clean.  
  
Sören got back on the bench and Anthony returned the favor. Sören was so turned on by sucking Anthony that it didn't take long for Anthony to bring him off, and he seemed to enjoy Sören's flavor just as much, murmuring "that's lovely" after he swallowed, before lapping up the seed continuing to flow from Sören's cock.  
  
They weren't quite spent - sucking Sören to climax had gotten Anthony hard again, and tasting himself on Anthony, feeling how ready he was to go again, made Sören crazy with desire. Sören sat on Anthony's lap, facing him, and with Anthony's arms around him, holding him close, kissing him deep, Sören sank down. Sören was still open from last night, and they were sweat-slick enough that they didn't need lube. He groaned as he felt Anthony stretching him, and they both cried out when Anthony bottomed out, all the way inside him. Sören rested for a moment, savoring that first moment of connection, that feeling of _oneness_ between them, looking into Anthony's green eyes and feeling perfect love and perfect trust.  
  
The heat of the sauna was mirrored in their passion, Sören riding Anthony like it was their first time, like it was their last time. Their hands played over each other, needing to touch, needing to have and hold and give and take and please and tease and _love_. Every kiss stoked the fire hotter, and as badly as Sören needed to come he needed to keep feeling Anthony inside him, hitting that perfect note of pleasure in him again and again, completely and utterly lost in that place that was only theirs, where the hectic, chaotic world could not intrude, could not take this from them.  
  
"I love you," Sören ground out between kisses.  
  
"I love you."  
  
"I'm gonna come soon, _elskan._"  
  
Anthony grabbed Sören harder, holding him for dear life. Sören rode, feverish, not caring if it was too much. It was never too much, never enough, _needing_. Sören whimpered, panted, gasped, as Anthony groaned, growled, their kisses deeper and deeper, fierce, demanding. At last Anthony's eyes met his, green fire blazing his soul. "Come for me."  
  
Sören let go, screaming, his entire body feeling like he'd been shocked, and through it, the awe of what this man could make him feel, that such a physical act could be so transcendent, so luminous, like they were stealing fire from heaven. Anthony cried out as he spent into Sören, and Sören gasped at the feeling of Anthony spilling into him, the evidence of their union. He loved that feeling of being marked, claimed, filled by the man he loved. Anthony knew he loved it, tenderness in his own eyes as he crushed Sören against him, kissed him with all the fire hidden beneath the cool, professional exterior, fire burning all the hotter for being secret, like magma flowing.  
  
Anthony held him then, rocked him, pet him, and Sören sighed, the contentment post-orgasm even stronger in the steam of the sauna. And it felt so _right_ for them to love like this here...  
  
_...fire calling to fire._  
  
Sören was in a bit of a daze on the ride to the airport, and on the flight back to London. Not quite asleep, but he felt out of it, in the best possible way, as deeply relaxed and content as he'd felt in ages. He rested on Anthony's shoulder on the flight home, who wrapped them up together in a blanket and pet and pet Sören, untiring of touching him.  
  
Back at the flat in London, Sören finally snapped back to consciousness as he took a shower, but also felt drained - again, in a good way, tired but happy. They finished their weekend with Anthony sitting on the couch in his pajamas, wearing his glasses as he attended to a last-minute pile of paperwork before Monday morning, and Sören lay across the couch, head in his lap in a non-sexual way, Anthony idly petting and stroking him as he looked things over, between dashes of his pen.  
  
Finally Anthony's work was done and he fully attended to Sören, rubbing his shoulders.  
  
"Thank you for this weekend," Sören said, smiling up at him.  
  
"Thank _you._"  
  
"That was wonderful, beyond words."  
  
Anthony smiled, stroking Sören's face. "That was just the beginning. There is so much more I want to give you." He pulled Sören up and gave him a kiss. "I would give you the moon if I could."  
  
"I don't need the moon, Anthony. Just you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artistic license note: the ABBA Museum (yes, it's a real place!) didn't technically open until 2013, and they visit in January 2012, but as this is an alternate universe version of Earth, my explanation is that the museum opened earlier there (it was supposed to be open earlier than 2013 here, anyway, it had gotten delayed).


	11. The Sweetest Taboo

Sören had to work all of the following weekend, and then after another long week, he had Saturday, January twenty-eighth off. He would have to work on Sunday, starting early into the evening, but at least he had Friday night and all of Saturday with Anthony.  
  
Though clubbing had sounded like a fun option for a Saturday night when they were both free, it started to snow hard on Friday night, enough that Anthony took a detour picking Sören up from the hospital to stock up groceries for a few days so they wouldn't have to go out, and sure enough when they woke on Saturday morning, London had received a decent amount of snow, and it was still coming down, not as hard as it was last night, but even a little bit seemed like too much.  
  
"Well, I'm not going anywhere today," Anthony said, looking out the window.  
  
"That's fine. To be honest a quiet day at home feels like just what I need," Sören said. He chuckled, looking at his red plaid flannel pajamas. "I'm not even going to get dressed today."  
  
"Neither am I." Anthony smiled, also in his pajamas, black silk, under a black bathrobe. "It's nice to have a day to not have to go anywhere or do anything or be anything."  
  
Even as Sören felt lazy, he also felt motivated enough to work on getting dinner started in the slow cooker, a homemade lamb stew that seemed perfect for a cold, snowy day like this. Sören wanted to work to music, so he put on an mp3 playlist of songs from the 1970s and 1980s that made him nostalgic for his early childhood and when his mamma made a stew just like this. Anthony hovered in the kitchen, and soon enough hovering turned into grabbing Sören from behind and kissing his neck, and Sören knew dinner would never get started if he kept doing that, so he needed to find Anthony a distraction, politely.  
  
And then "Dancing Queen" by ABBA came on and Sören and Anthony took one look at each other and burst into laughter, remembering how two weekends ago Sören, after having some Absolut at a restaurant in Stockholm, was emboldened enough to break into ABBA songs in a Swedish park, drawing a crowd. Sören also remembered how Anthony had said in order for Sören to see him in his barrister getup, Sören had to do something ridiculous.  
  
"Well then," Sören said, brandishing the knife in Anthony's general direction - more of a joke than an actual threat, "I think it's time you paid up."  
  
"Paid up?"  
  
Sören gave him a look. "I made an arse of myself in Stockholm, singing this -"  
  
"Oh, I don't know about that, you were quite good, people liked it -"  
  
"People can like it and still think I look like an arse, and let's be real, _I did_." Sören raised an eyebrow. "Go on, show me your courtroom outfit."  
  
"Oh dear _god._" Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose, turning beetroot.  
  
"Do it or I'll make you listen to 'Never Gonna Give You Up' for the next four hours on repeat."  
  
Anthony rolled his eyes and walked off. A few minutes later, when everything was in the crock pot and Sören set it to simmer, his back turned, Sören heard a dramatic clear of the throat.  
  
Sören turned around and saw Anthony wearing a solemn black robe with a white shirt underneath sporting tails on the collar, and a yellowing grey-white wig that was in tight rolled curls on the top and led out to a curly tail in the back. Anthony tried to give him the most deadly serious expression that he could muster, but his cheeks were pink and his eyes were twinkling.  
  
"_Hvað í fjandanum._" Sören tried not to laugh, and failed at it, doubling over the counter, snorting. "Wow, that's... that's worse than I thought."  
  
"Yes, _yes_, I know. It's a tradition, and though it looks daft outside of the court, there are valid reasons for upholding the tradition, like I explained to you in Stockholm."  
  
"How old is that wig?" Sören wrinkled his nose. "Shouldn't it have a bath?"  
  
"There is an attitude that the older and more crap your wig looks, the more prestige it affords you. Myself and several of my diploma group brethren put our wigs near car exhausts to try to age them up when we started at our respective Inns."  
  
"...Wow. That's... wow. Well, it certainly looks old, Anthony. Looks like a goddamn relic." And then, not able to help himself, Sören said, "Rock me, Amadeus!"  
  
"Oh. _God._"  
  
Sören needed to make it worse. He went over to the stereo, and selected "Rock Me Amadeus" by Falco on the playlist, turning up the volume.  
  
_Ooh, rock me, Amadeus!  
  
Er war ein Punker und er lebte in der großen Stadt  
Es war in Wien, war Vienna, wo er alles tat  
Er hatte Schulden, denn er trank, doch ihn liebten alle Frauen  
Und jede rief: "Come and rock me Amadeus!"  
Er war Superstar, er war populär  
Er war so exaltiert, because er hatte Flair  
Er war ein Virtuose, war ein Rockidol  
Und alles rief: "Come and rock me Amadeus!"  
  
Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus  
Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus  
Amadeus, Amadeus - oh, oh, oh - Amadeus  
Come and rock me Amadeus!_  
  
Anthony looked like he wanted to be offended and couldn't be, shaking with silent laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Sören Sigurðsson, I swear to _god_."  
  
"Hey, now I know what to have as the ringtone for your number!" Sören grinned and rushed to his phone, and as "Rock Me Amadeus" continued playing, Sören went to his ringtone app, found a ringtone that was a sample of the chorus of "Rock Me Amadeus", downloaded it and programmed it into the phone as his ringtone for Anthony.  
  
"You're terrible."  
  
"No, that wig is terrible. Does it..." Sören tried to catch his breath, another gigglefit coming on at the sight of Anthony attempting to look dignified there in the living room with the wig and robe still on. "Doesn't it itch?"  
  
"Not really. It's more hot and heavy as far as discomfort goes."  
  
"Hot and heavy, eh?" Sören waggled his eyebrows. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, determined to push the envelope as far as he could get away with. "You think any barristers wear the wig during sex?"  
  
"_Sören._" Anthony's eyes narrowed.  
  
"Would you wear the wig when we shag if I asked you?" Sören waggled his eyebrows again and he let Anthony turn beetroot and splutter for a full minute before Sören admitted, "That was a joke." Then he quipped, not able to resist, "Mostly."  
  
"All right. You've seen enough." Anthony began to walk back towards the bedroom. Before he could completely leave the living room, Sören called out, "Wait." Anthony waited.  
  
"Let me see the wig? You can get the robe off but I want to... touch it. It's curiosity, it's going to drive me mad if I don't." That wasn't a lie, but Sören also wasn't done trolling Anthony yet.  
  
Anthony took off the wig and tossed it to Sören, who caught it, and then Sören said, "Hey, that was fun. This could be a new sport, wig tossing..."  
  
Anthony made noises as he stormed down the hall. As he approached the living room again, Sören heard him before he saw him, with Anthony calling down, "All right, Sören, you've had your fun touching -"  
  
Anthony came out - once again in his pajamas and bathrobe - to see Sören sitting on the couch with the wig in his lap as if it were a cat, petting it.  
  
"Sören, what are you doing?"  
  
"What does it look like I'm doing? He likes me," Sören said, petting the wig some more.  
  
Anthony once again gave him that mock offended glare, trying not to encourage Sören by laughing. "Sören. _Sören Sigurðsson._"  
  
"Jæja?" Sören skritched the wig. "Oh, what's that?" He held the wig up to his ear as if the wig were telling him something, and then he patted the wig and told Anthony, "He's not ready to go back in the closet yet."  
  
"He..." Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sören, _that is a wig_. It is not a _he._"  
  
Sören gave him a shocked look, putting a hand to his open mouth as he covered the "ears" of the wig with the other. "Oh my _god_, Anthony, you'll hurt his feelings."  
  
Anthony made a "give it back" gesture, and Sören shook his head. "No," he said, and scooped the wig up into his arms, cradling the wig like a baby, rocking it. "He spends all that time alone in your closet, and when he's not he has to sit on your head while you're _in court_. That's no fun. Let him spend some time with his new friend. I bet he doesn't even have a name." Sören looked down at the wig. "Do you?" Sören made the wig move like it was shaking its head.  
  
"Oh. My. _God_..."  
  
Sören skritched the wig, rocking it. "I will pet him and love him and call him George."  
  
Anthony lost it at the literary reference. He went to the kitchen to make tea, trying to pull himself together and failing. "Dammit, Sören..."  
  
Sören began to make a purring noise, like the wig was his ventriloquist's dummy. "Oh, he _likes that._ Don't you, George?" The purring got louder. Sören held the wig close and pet it and sang:  
  
_Soft kitty  
Warm kitty  
Little ball of fur  
Happy kitty  
Sleepy kitty  
Purr, purr, purr._  
  
As if on cue, "Soft and Wet" by Prince came on Sören's 70s and 80s playlist via the stereo's random shuffle feature.  
  
_Hey, lover, I got a sugarcane  
That I wanna lose in you,  
Baby can you stand the pain  
Hey, lover, sugar don't you see?  
There's so many things that you do to me  
Ooo baby!_  
  
"I DIDN'T MEAN THAT KIND OF KITTY, PRINCE," Sören shouted at the stereo, and Anthony buried his face in his arms on the kitchen counter when Sören said, "This isn't _that_ kind of wig."  
  
"Sören, give me the wig now," Anthony said, making the "give it back" gesture again, this time with both hands.  
  
"He has a name. You can only have him back if you show him enough respect to use his -"  
  
"OK, fine. Give me back... George." Anthony wheezed. "I can't _fucking_ believe this..."  
  
Sören tossed the wig at him and Anthony caught it. He stalked off, glaring at Sören, who stuck his tongue out. When Anthony came back he was still beetroot and shaking from laughter, and he sat next to Sören on the couch.  
  
When tea was ready Anthony got up, and a few minutes later he brought over Earl Grey for both of them. Sören watched the snow out the window, entranced, but his attention kept going back to Anthony who was losing it again.  
  
"That was seriously disturbing," Anthony said.  
  
"_Takk._" Sören sipped his tea.  
  
When Anthony sipped his, Sören decided he had to take one last shot, for now. He stroked his beard thoughtfully and said, "I think I figured out why you lot can only wear that in the courtroom."  
  
Anthony raised his eyebrow and took another sip of tea, waiting.  
  
"They'll get loose and start... breeding. Like Tribbles."  
  
Anthony spat his tea, had to put his cup down, and wiped his face and bathrobe, shaking, leaning on Sören as he doubled over, tears streaming down his red face. "Sören..."  
  
"Court doesn't set the right mood, but if they were around outside of it, ho ho ho..." Sören rolled his eyes. "Lincoln's Inn would be overrun with little baby wigs..."  
  
Anthony made inhuman noises. "Sören. _Sören._ Stop. You're killing me."  
  
"All right, _all right._" Sören patted him. "I'll stop... for now. This isn't over yet."  
  
"Ye _gods._" Anthony shook his head and picked his tea back up.  
  
When their tea was finished, Anthony went to the sink, and on his way back he lingered at his bookshelf. Anthony selected a hardcover copy of _The Master and Margarita_, retrieved his glasses from his desk, and got back on the couch next to Sören.  
  
Sören considered getting a book himself, since Anthony had told him awhile back to feel free to do so, but Sören felt brain-dead from having worked such long hours all week that he didn't feel like he could get into something involved like reading. He was nonetheless feeling too mentally restless to do something like zone out watching TV or a movie from Anthony's DVD collection. Sören decided to paint, which he hadn't done in awhile. But by the time he set up an easel and had assembled his paints and brushes, it was such a big production that Sören lost all motivation to paint, and he flomped down on the couch next to Anthony with a disgruntled noise.  
  
"What's the matter?" Anthony asked, looking up from his book, concern on his face.  
  
"Oh, just... this bullshit keeps happening." Sören gestured over to the easel and paints set up near Anthony's desk. "I can't have that stuff out all the time, it takes up too much room, but by the time I get it all together my brain decides it's too _tired_ and doesn't want to paint anymore. It's why I hardly ever paint now."  
  
Anthony frowned. "Do you think it would help if next time I set things up for you?"  
  
Sören shook his head. "It's too involved, stuff like having to sort through my colors - knowing the difference between shit like cadmium yellow and cadmium lemon, phthalo blue and ultramarine, that kind of thing - and a lot of the times when I paint I don't know what colors I'll be using till I actually go through them myself." Sören sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's _frustrating._ Art is one of the ways I cope and it's..." Sören made a vague hand gesture in the direction of his easel and paints. "It would be so much easier if I just had everything instantly available at the touch of my fingertips."  
  
Anthony's brow furrowed, and he patted Sören, rubbed his shoulder, leaned in to give Sören a little kiss. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Já, me too."  
  
Anthony put his book down. "You want to watch anything? Or..."  
  
"Well, I wanted to _do_ something, but I'm too tapped out for art, too tapped out to read, and not tapped out enough to watch something. I hate it when I get like this, energy I don't know what to do with."  
  
Anthony thought for a moment. "I have an idea."  
  
"Does it involve George?"  
  
Anthony gave Sören a playful swat with the book, and Sören tweaked his nose, and Anthony mussed Sören's curls. Then, giving Sören another little kiss, he said, "It's something I haven't done in a long while, actually. Well... technically you and I did this, over Christmas, but that was back at my parents' house." He got up and stooped in front of the TV, rummaged in the cabinet underneath, and Sören watched as he pulled out a gaming console and a box of old video games. "Yes?"  
  
"Oh my god, _yes._" Sören nodded enthusiastically.  
  
Anthony showed him what he had, and they mutually decided upon Sonic the Hedgehog. They would play a few rounds before dinner, trading off who got to be Sonic and who got to be Tails, based on who won the previous round.  
  
Sören hadn't played video games since he was a teenager - they weren't fun to him unless he had someone to play with, and he'd had nobody in his life, not even friends, until Anthony. Once again Sören felt a touch of how surreal his life had become, a neurosurgeon and a barrister, two professionals, playing Sonic the Hedgehog in their pajamas. And it was exactly the sort of change Sören welcomed. He could tell Anthony needed it too, relaxing and having fun, like the two of them were two big kids again.  
  
They took a break for dinner when the crock pot was ready. Anthony profusely complimented his bowl of lamb stew. "Sören, this is so good. You cook at least as well as my mum, if not better."  
  
"Awww, I mean... it's just stew. It's nothing fancy."  
  
"No, it's really good. I can't cook like you can, and it's just... it's nice, having a home-cooked meal, and one that was made with appreciable talent... and love."  
  
"Well, I do love you. And I'm glad. I don't always have the energy to cook, but when I have time I like to do things like this, make enough to have leftovers for the next day or the day after."  
  
"It means a lot, that you do this when your free time is so precious." Anthony kissed him. "And you're very, very good at it."  
  
Sören beamed, glowing with pride at what he could tell was a sincere compliment. "I try."  
  
"You definitely succeed. I'll handle cleanup, since you cooked. Oh, speaking of which, the housekeeper is coming tomorrow when you're at work." Anthony was fairly proactive about cleaning up after himself to keep the place tidy and functional, but with his schedule being what it was he preferred to have a housekeeper come in once or twice a month for a few hours to do a more thorough job with the flat. Sören was relieved by this, and he was touched that it was one of Anthony's former clients, a woman from "an unfortunate background" who was now making a living as a maid. Anthony did insist on being there when she came, explaining to Sören he'd want to be around for any housekeeping whether the person had a criminal past or not, but she had been on the right side of the law since she'd had her day in court.  
  
"Oh, if I'd have known I would have picked up stuff at the store to make her a batch of cookies or brownies."  
  
"Oh, Sören. You're so sweet sometimes I can barely believe you're real."  
  
"Well, it's not entirely unselfish. I could go for some cookies or brownies, myself." Sören made a little whine.  
  
"Hold that thought."  
  
After Anthony did dishes, he came back with a carton of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and two spoons. Sören laughed at the sight of it and gave Anthony a kiss when he sat down. "Awwwwwww, my hero."  
  
"Shall we play another round?"  
  
"Yes, please."  
  
As they played more Sonic the Hedgehog, they ate ice cream straight from the container, and after awhile they began feeding each other spoonfuls of ice cream. When they'd finally had their fill of the game, Anthony put one last spoonful in Sören's mouth - heat in his eyes as Sören sucked the spoon suggestively - and he stole a kiss, sharing the ice cream in the kiss. They lingered, petting each other, nuzzling. Sören's cock was starting to wake up, not quite fully erect, but reminding him it would be nice to make love later.  
  
The cold ice cream made them both want something hot to drink, so when Anthony went to put the carton back in the freezer he made more tea, and they cuddled together on the couch with a microfleece blanket wrapped around them, drinking tea.  
  
"This has been a surprisingly nice day," Anthony said. "Not a care in the world."  
  
"Except me making friends with George."  
  
Anthony facepalmed. "God_dammit_, Sören..."  
  
"Poor George, in the closet, all alone..."  
  
"Why are you like this?"  
  
"Because you need it." Sören kissed the tip of his nose. "And I do too. If I _really_ go too far then by all means say something, but you know you don't hate this."  
  
"No, I don't." Anthony sighed and he pulled Sören closer, kissing Sören's brow. "I think I mentioned to you once that... well... when I was young, I wished I had two brothers."  
  
"You mentioned that, yes."  
  
Anthony nodded. "Two brothers, preferably older so they could look out for me, give me advice... have my back in that 'nobody gets to be an arse to you but me' sort of way that seems to be common among siblings."  
  
Sören nodded, remembering his own childhood.  
  
"I also wished I had a younger sister. Not too young, just a few years younger. Someone I could look out for, do some ribbing, myself." Anthony frowned. "But... I'm an only child, for better or worse. For all my privilege, there were times when I would have rather been worse off but had more of a family, than what I do. And I'm sure there are plenty of people worse off who would have gladly taken my lot in life, traded a sibling for the privilege. We don't always get what we want, and having a family has been one of the things money can't buy me."  
  
Sören felt bad for him; Sören's arms tightened around him. "I used to wish sometimes I had a younger brother," Sören confessed. "Dag is seven minutes younger than me, but that's... not the same thing, really." He gave a wistful sigh.  
  
His eyes soft, Anthony stroked Sören's face, pet his curls, kissed the top of his head. "It's strange. You're my partner, I'm fiercely attracted to you. But in a sense you're also like... the brother I never had. The older brother I always wanted, even though you're younger than me - you look out for me. _You put yourself in harm's way for me_ on New Year's Eve, I'll never forget that."  
  
"Awwwwwwwwwwww?" Sören squeezed him even harder. "That's so sweet?"  
  
Anthony chuckled. "It also sounds fucked up, doesn't it? A bit incestuous."  
  
And underneath the blanket, their pajama-clad bodies close together, Sören could feel Anthony hard against him. And Sören found his own cock was responding.  
  
They kissed, tongues teasing, tasting, and Sören's hand slid down to the hard bulge in Anthony's pajama bottoms, rubbing gently. "Definitely quite a bit incestuous." Sören felt Anthony's cock leap under his touch, heard the telltale catch in Anthony's breath, and Sören gave a little groan of his own, cock twinging.  
  
"Oh god." Anthony took a few deep breaths. "This is all kinds of wrong."  
  
"It is," Sören admitted. "But your cock and mine seem to think it's all kinds of wrong in just the right way." Sören stole another kiss.  
  
"Sören..." Anthony looked nervous, but there was a neediness in his eyes as well. "I don't want you to get the wrong idea about me. I would never do anything -"  
  
"No, neither would I. I have no interest in my brother, Dag." Sören made a face, not even able to think about it. "Though..." Sören chuckled, feeling sheepish that he didn't realize this sooner. "_You_ look more like you're related to Dag, than I do. That's a little unsettling." Sören kissed Anthony again. "Not unsettling enough, though." They kissed again.  
  
"Oh god. Sören." Anthony shuddered. "I..."  
  
Sören peeled the blanket off them. His heart was pounding in his ears, knowing he was about to cross a line, a line he would have never dreamed of crossing prior to five minutes ago, and yet here they were, and Sören's body was screaming with sexual hunger, his cock and hole throbbing at the delicious forbidden fruit held out before them. Sören dropped from the couch onto his knees and pulled Anthony's pajama pants down just enough to free his hard cock. "You want what you want. Your body doesn't lie." And then Sören took a lick at the head of Anthony's cock, looking into his eyes, watching as Anthony gasped, trembled. Sören took a few more licks, smiling as Anthony's breath hitched and he let out a moan, reaching out to grab Sören's curls. "Does my little brother like that?"  
  
"_Ohgod._" Anthony was panting now, and Sören grinned at the way his cock jolted at those words.  
  
_This is so fucking wrong._ But Sören wanted it too. Sören licked Anthony's cock some more, tongue rubbing in the slit, teasing it. When his lips wrapped around the head of Anthony's cock and he swirled his tongue as he sucked, kissing it, Anthony got more vocal, moaning, sighing. Anthony let out a cry when Sören let the cock slip and went back to rubbing his tongue around the head. "Mmmmmm, I love teasing my little brother," Sören husked.  
  
That did it. Anthony grabbed Sören's curls hard, and growled, "You. Me. Bedroom. _Now._"  
  
"Such a demanding spoilt brat my little brother is -"  
  
Anthony yanked Sören up to his feet and he was right there, dragging Sören along with him, kissing him as passionately as Sören had ever been kissed. Once they were in the bedroom they undressed each other, letting their pajamas slip to the floor, and then Anthony shoved Sören onto the bed and climbed over him, a feral, dangerous look in his eyes that made Sören's own cock jolt and drip precum, wanting him, wanting this next level of exploration.  
  
"If I'm a brat," Anthony ground out, "it runs in the family." He kissed Sören hard.  
  
They groaned as their hard cocks slid together, and Anthony moaned again as Sören's hands ran over him.  
  
"Mmmmmmmmmm, yes it does." Sören kissed Anthony back, and began to kiss Anthony's neck, making him moan and shiver; Sören licked and nibbled his neck, smirking as he felt Anthony's cock stiffening even more. "Well, then. If you're going to do something, no sense in doing it halfway, já? My brother should show me what a terror he can be."  
  
Anthony growled and bit Sören's neck, then his shoulder, and now it was Sören's turn to tremble, crying out, his cock twinging and jolting against Anthony's. Anthony groaned as he felt Sören responding, and Anthony licked where his teeth had been, licked down to Sören's nipple, laving, lapping, lashing. Sören cried out again, and let out a howl when Anthony's teeth were on his nipple, then he suckled, soothing and tormenting all at once, before licking some more. Back and forth he went between Sören's nipples, teasing them into hard, aching peaks, getting them ripe and swollen, making Sören writhe and sob with pleasure and frustration. Anthony teased him and teased him, fingers rubbing one as his mouth worked on the other, knowing too well what drove Sören mad.  
  
Then he continued to kiss his way down, and spent awhile kissing, licking, and nibbling Sören's stomach, kissing and biting Sören's exquisitely sensitive inner thighs. Sören knew he was going to have bruises there tomorrow and he didn't care - to the contrary, he loved seeing that evidence of where Anthony had been, what Anthony had done, making him _his_. And there was something about that tonight, with this game they were playing, that felt even more delicious than usual. "Mmmm, I'm going to look down tomorrow and see what my brother did to me."  
  
"Oh, _fuck._" Anthony bit Sören's thigh harder, making Sören yelp.  
  
And then Anthony was licking his cock, just licking and licking and licking, as Sören panted, gasped, whimpered, clutching Anthony's head, being dangled on that edge of sensation, driven out of his mind. When Anthony finally relented and took Sören into his mouth he sucked slowly, deliberately, agonizingly slowly, and Sören whined, his voice raspy as he called out "Anthony. Please. Please..."  
  
Anthony was not inclined to give in to Sören's pleas for release any time soon. After a few minutes of slow sucking Sören's cock, he let it slip, tongue-bathed it some more, and then his tongue slid down from the head to the shaft down further to Sören's balls, then the sensitive place between balls and ass, and then his tongue was inside Sören, slowly rubbing that sweet spot inside him, bringing Sören closer to release but still keeping it out of the way, mischief in his eyes as he looked over the length of Sören's body up at him, watching Sören's desperate, needy reactions.  
  
"Oh god. Anthony. _Anthony._ Please. Please, please, fucking _please_, PLEASE..."  
  
Anthony gave a few teasing licks around the rim of Sören's opening and then pushed his tongue back inside, licking even more slowly than before. Sören gave a scream and Anthony laughed softly, replying with a wicked "mmmmmmm".  
  
"Anthony. Please. Anthony. _Please._ Please. Please, please, please, _please_..."  
  
Anthony finally stopped licking and said, "Please, what?"  
  
"Please, _fuck me_..."  
  
"Wrong answer." Anthony resumed licking, slowly, slowly, and Sören howled, whined. Sören thought he had a better appreciation of what an animal must feel during heat, now, the all-consuming, shameless need to just get _fucked_, be filled and satisfied. Sören felt ready to cry, Anthony's tongue was too delicious and he needed more. So much more.  
  
"Anthony, please, please, fucking _please_, I'm begging you, please..."  
  
Anthony paused again and asked, "What's the magic word, Sören?"  
  
And then Sören knew. "Please, brother."  
  
That was indeed the magic word, and that it was made Sören's cock and hole both twitch when Anthony stopped licking and kissed his way up Sören's body. Anthony got the lube and started teasing Sören's nipples again as he readied Sören's passage with slick fingers, claimed Sören's mouth roughly as he slicked his own cock. When he pushed inside Sören felt like crying with a combination of relief and intensified need, and when Anthony was all the way in, their eyes met, and the feeling of breathing each other's breath during this experience of newfound closeness, speaking the truth of their hearts, threatened to set Sören off right then.  
  
Anthony kept the pace slow for the first few minutes, agonizingly, deliciously, tormenting them both. They kissed and kissed, hands playing over each other's bodies, needing to touch, feel every inch of each other that they could reach. "I love you, brother," Anthony husked with such longing in his eyes that it brought tears to Sören's own, _feeling_ the loneliness he'd felt for so long, that sense of something missing that hadn't been safe to fill before now.  
  
Sören reached up to stroke Anthony's face, muss his hair. "I love you, brother."  
  
Anthony kissed him harder. He moved inside Sören just a little faster, and Sören's hands slid down to Anthony's hips, Sören rolling his hips back at him. "You feel so good," Anthony whispered, kissing and licking Sören's neck, making Sören quiver.  
  
"_You_ feel good." Sören's lips quirked. "My little brother isn't so little." Sören gave a groan. "So big. So full inside me."  
  
Anthony grabbed Sören's wrists and pinned them, and began to thrust into him harder, faster. He nipped Sören's lower lip, and Sören cried out into another heated kiss.  
  
"So rough, little brother!" Not that Sören minded - just the opposite, Sören moaning, throbbing at the luscious rhythm inside him, stroking the sweet spot so right.  
  
Anthony went even harder and faster, biting Sören's neck. Sören loved it, whimpering, gasping, bucking underneath him. "Oh god, my brother's so evil..."  
  
"You may be the big brother," Anthony rasped, licking Sören's neck, "but _I'm the one in charge._"  
  
"Oh god. Yes, yes, _yes_, fucking YES, _FUCK ME_, brother..."  
  
With Sören's legs on his shoulders, Anthony drove into him with fast, furious, frenzied abandon, pounding Sören harder and harder, hammering away at that sweet spot in him just right. When Anthony let go of Sören's wrists, Sören's nails raked Anthony's back, and between fierce, hot kisses Sören cried out, "Brother, _brother_, more, brother, more..."  
  
"My brother." Anthony kissed him with wild, desperate need that made Sören ache. "My brother..."  
  
"Oh god, brother, fuck me, brother, _fokk mér litli bróðir!_"  
  
Anthony groaned, slamming into Sören even harder, nibbling on him, moving in for the kill. Sören's nails scratched down his back as he clung to Anthony for dear life, bounced and rocked away underneath him, giving back as good as he got, wanting this as badly as he'd wanted anything. It was so wrong, so _fucked up_, and that just made it hotter to Sören, their broken places fitting together just the right way, intimacy even deeper stumbling upon this secret kink together, this terrible longing they both carried inside them. It was like coming home to a home Sören didn't even know existed, being reunited with someone lost, something precious.  
  
"Brother. Brother, _litli bróðir_, I love you..."  
  
Anthony kissed Sören hard, and then soft and sweet. "I need you."  
  
"Take what you need."  
  
Anthony took Sören's face in his hands and kissed him again. He slowed down, teasing them both, edging them, keeping them in this moment of deep, wild magic as long as possible, until they were both shaking, gasping, and then he grabbed Sören's wrists again and pinned him as he fucked Sören even harder than before, Sören crying out with each savage, punishing thrust.  
  
"Come for me, brother," Anthony growled.  
  
Sören screamed as he lost control, eyes rolling, his entire body shaking, toes curling, his cock and inner walls pulsing and pulsing, making a shameless, glorious mess all over both of them as his cock spent again and again. Three thrusts later and Anthony came with a deep, delicious groan of male satisfaction, making Sören shoot again.  
  
"Oh god," Sören gasped, still shuddering. Tears burned his eyes, flooded his cheeks, overcome by emotion, by the gravity of what they'd just done. "Oh god..."  
  
Anthony was crying too, quietly. "Sören." He stroked Sören's face, kissed his tears. "Sören, I love you."  
  
They clung to each other, rocking, shaking, at last sobbing, both men no longer hiding the full emotional impact of what they'd just done.  
  
"I hope you're not going to judge me now," Sören choked out through his tears.  
  
"No, Sören, I hope you're not going to judge _me_."  
  
"We needed that," Sören said, "clearly. It hit something in both of us just the right way."  
  
"It did," Anthony said, nodding, "and that's kind of terrifying. It's not something I'd do with -"  
  
Sören put up a hand in protest. "I know. Neither of us would. This is just... a game." Sören stroked Anthony's hair and face. "A kink we both have. And you know what?" Sören kissed the tip of his nose. "We're not hurting anyone." Sören kissed him softly.  
  
"No. I think it's... the opposite. This feels like it's... healing something hurt." Anthony blinked back more tears, wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. "My childhood was incredibly lonely, Sören."  
  
Sören wept afresh, crying for him. He rained kisses over Anthony's face, then held him close, petting him. "You're not alone anymore. We've got each other." He leaned in and whispered, "We found our way home, little brother."  
  
Anthony rose and kissed Sören hard enough to take his breath away, hard enough to stir their spent cocks. Now Sören rolled Anthony onto his back and began to give him the same treatment, kissing Anthony's neck, lapping and suckling the nipples, kissing and nibbling his stomach. When he started licking and sucking and biting Anthony's inner thigh, Anthony grabbed his curls and commanded, "Sören, just take me already."  
  
Sören laughed and came up to kiss him, reaching for the lube. "Don't you like it when I love you, little brother?"  
  
"I do. Any other night I would let you. But here, now..." Anthony looked into Sören's eyes with such longing that it made Sören tear up again. "I need too much, Sören."  
  
"Never too much," Sören rasped and kissed him hard as he pushed slick fingers into him, playing with that place inside him, readying him.  
  
When Sören's cock was all the way in, he was gratified by the way Anthony moaned and trembled, clutching at him. Sören hooked Anthony's right leg around his waist and began to thrust, neither too fast nor too slow, moaning himself as he plunged into silken heat, the sweet vise-like grip around him, rippling against him one way then the other as he glided back and forth, in and out.  
  
"You feel so good to me, little brother," Sören whispered.  
  
Anthony grabbed Sören and kissed him. "You feel so right inside me, big brother." He kissed Sören again. "This is so wrong... and so right." He shuddered.  
  
"We were made to fuck each other," Sören rasped, before claiming Anthony's mouth again.  
  
Anthony's eyes widened and he gasped into the kiss, as if something snapped in his head, and the next thing Sören knew, Anthony rolled Sören onto his back and began to ride him. Sören loved it, enjoying the view, enjoying the _passion_. He grabbed Anthony's hips and thrust into him hard, and Anthony grabbed onto Sören for dear life. With the wild, frantic ride, they didn't last long, Anthony coming hard with a hoarse shout, Sören coming seconds later at the feel of the contractions around his cock, the sight of his beloved in ecstasy.  
  
Anthony lay in Sören's arms, on his chest, Sören cradling him, petting him. They drifted a bit, and then Anthony roused him before he could completely doze off, kissing him, and Sören's cock responded, Sören smiling as he felt Anthony hard against him once more.  
  
This time Sören took Anthony on his back and he stayed there, looking up at Sören with love and trust in his eyes as Sören fucked him with a leg on his shoulder. Sören had intended to go slower, not wanting to hurt him, but he couldn't help himself, Anthony felt too delicious, and Anthony's deep, primal noises urged him on.  
  
"My big brother is such a beast," Anthony said. "I love it."  
  
"_Fuck._" Sören shuddered, rocking into him even harder. "Fuck, I fucking want you..."  
  
"Yes, brother." Anthony tugged on one of Sören's nipple rings, knowing how that got him going even more. "Take it like you own it, because you do. I'm as much yours as you are mine."  
  
Sören growled and gave it to him as hard as he could stand it. The slap of Sören's balls competed with their cries and grunts and at last it was too good and Sören couldn't hold back any longer and he looked into Anthony's eyes and rasped, "Come with me."  
  
They came together, taking each other's hands. Sören felt like he was falling, then flying, his spirit soaring, something in him set free. They started crying again, but now they were laughing too, and when Sören snuggled up against Anthony, they rubbed noses and laughed into a deep, sweet kiss, Anthony's arms squeezing him tight.  
  
"Thank you," Anthony whispered, rocking Sören in his arms.  
  
"The pleasure was mine." Sören grinned.  
  
"You're right, because what I experienced... 'pleasure' doesn't do that justice." Anthony flushed pink. "God, what's wrong with us."  
  
"I don't know, but I like it."  
  
They kissed, and then Sören erupted into a gigglefit, not able to resist the urge to get in one last shot before they fell asleep.  
  
"What?" Anthony raised an eyebrow.  
  
"It's maybe no surprise I'm one for violating taboos considering, you know." Sören giggled. "George."  
  
"Oh, my _god._" Anthony facepalmed, shaking with silent laughter.  
  
"I can't even imagine what your colleagues would say if they saw what went down this morning."  
  
"Neither can I." Now Anthony's laughter was less silent. "I still can't believe... that... Tribble... comment."  
  
"Well, it's a real concern! We can't have London flooded by wigs."  
  
"God, Sören..."  
  
"That said, I still feel bad about George being trapped in the closet when he's not at court with you." Sören grinned. "Might have to do something about that."  
  
"Might?" Anthony glared, though his eyes were smiling. "Sören, you better _behave_."  
  
"Or what? You gonna... try me?" Sören snorted. "I think you already did that, just now."  
  
Anthony started tickling him. Sören screamed and flailed, as Anthony delighted in the new information that Sören was exceedingly ticklish. When he finally stopped, he pulled Sören back in his arms and pet him and said, "We need to get some sleep, you have an early start tomorrow."  
  
"Oh, _all right._"  
  
Anthony's lips quirked. "Funny how I'm the little brother and still the responsible adult here..."  
  
"Hi The Little Brother And Still The Responsible Adult Here -"  
  
Anthony swatted Sören's ass. He got up to turn off the lights, and then he and Sören tangled up together again. "Good night, my love."  
  
"Good night, Anthony." A pause. "Good night, George."  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören is in a body not his own. Taller, stronger, with a flood of black hair to his knees, straight rather than curly. His hands are calloused, scarred, and seem to be permanently stained with soot and ink.  
  
Sören is at their father's house - where he goes only rarely these days - for his younger brother Anthony's coming of age. Reluctantly, since Anthony had idolized him and clung when he was a boy, then became distant as he grew older. And the distance was returned - if his brother had no love for him, then he would have no love for his brother.  
  
And yet, the void, the ache, knowing it should not be this way, to be so detached from his blood. Wanting to reach out, but Sören's pride got in the way, not wanting to be rebuffed the way their father rebuffed him.  
  
What was merely sorrow at the distance now becomes pure anger when he sees his brother for the first time in years.  
  
Anthony is also in a body not his own, with hair that can only be described as silver-gold, also to his knees. Eyes grey, different face, and yet... still him, still feels like him, and has similar body language and facial expressions, a commanding baritone.  
  
He is all grown up now, absolutely gorgeous. Sören's wife could not sculpt something more exquisite than he, and Sören can't stop looking at him, feeling a surge of anger at the lust his brother provokes in him. _How dare he._  
  
Anthony notices him noticing, and, all cool disdain, every part the son-of-the-king their father has trained him to be, he finally says when they have a moment alone, "Finally you acknowledge I exist."  
  
Sören snorts. "I could say the same about you, brother."  
  
"Oh, believe me, I can do nothing _but_ acknowledge you exist." Before Sören can ask about that cryptic statement, Anthony goes on, "But you... you never cared before now."  
  
_I did care, and you pulled away from me._ He answers that challenge with pride, a bluff, a sting. "Of course I wouldn't. You are not like me, like our other brother - you have no fire in you."  
  
Anthony's eyes flare, and then he walks off.  
  
The distance returns at the evening meal. Sören retires to his bed, cursing that he cannot take their other brother into his bed here, under their father's roof. He is frustrated and needs to _unleash_. He manages to find sleep.  
  
But then he is woken up in the middle of the night by another presence in his bed. He smiles, feeling proud that his other brother wants him badly enough to risk it, and he moans at the frantic kisses raining over him, arching to his lover. "Yes, darling..."  
  
It is Anthony. He grabs Sören and kisses him as fiercely as Sören has ever been kissed, and then, his fingers in Sören's mouth so he can't cry out too loudly, he _bites_ Sören's neck. He is rock hard, and naked, his skin feverish. He _rips_ Sören's nightclothes from him, and bites Sören's throat. Sören gasps, cock leaping, and clutches at him, almost terrified of how badly he wants this, how badly he needs this. "Yes..."  
  
"I will show you fire, brother," Anthony promises. "We will scorch the earth, tonight." He claims Sören's mouth again, and oiled fingers push into him.  
  
That night, they burn.


	12. Thirty-Two

Earlier in January, Sören had requested the weekend of February fourth and fifth off, since Anthony's birthday was coming up on February fourth. To compensate for having the weekend off, Sören was working longer shifts during the week, and by the time he got home late Monday night, feeling useless laying on the couch as Anthony heated up food for him in the kitchen, Sören realized he wasn't going to have a lot of time to go shopping for Anthony's birthday present, and didn't have a clue about what to get the man who had everything.  
  
"Anthony?" Sören called, as Anthony was putting together a plate for him.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What do you want for your birthday?"  
  
Anthony shrugged. "Hadn't thought about it." He smiled. "Surprise me."  
  
Sören bit back a groan. That wasn't helpful - specifics would have been helpful if Anthony wanted anything at all. And when Anthony brought dinner out to him, and sat next to Sören on the couch, even though Anthony looked dead on his feet and needed to go to bed soon himself - he'd stayed up to see Sören and take care of him - Sören had to say something. "_Elskan_, seriously. I have no idea what to get you and very limited time to get it in."  
  
"I know." Anthony frowned. "Honestly, it's enough that you're taking that weekend off to spend with me. I want _you_ more than I want _things._"  
  
"But you like things." Sören gestured around at the flat, and even the expensive silk pajamas Anthony was wearing. "I don't want to disappoint you."  
  
"You're not a disappointment to me, and I don't want you stressing out about it." Anthony gave him a little kiss.  
  
On Tuesday morning, Anthony had court - a couple of small cases, and one big, important one. He wore the robe out the door, but he paused to put on the wig when a sleepy Sören put up a fuss about it. Sören giggled, doubling over. "I needed that. Perfect way to start my day."  
  
"Brat," Anthony said, but his eyes crinkled at the corners and Sören could tell he was amused rather than offended.  
  
On his break at work on Tuesday late afternoon, Sören found himself pulling out his sketchpad and doodling. He drew a cartoon of Anthony sitting at his desk in his office, wearing the robe and wig as he reviewed case files before court, and he made a little speech balloon with a heart and exclamation point in it above George atop Anthony's head, and then drew several tiny wigs on his desk, the tails of the wigs waggling as they played with pens and pencils and paperclips like they were cat toys, and the desk was surrounded by a pile of regular-sized wigs that had multiplied out of control. Anthony had a disgruntled look on his face in the cartoon, and as a finishing touch Sören made one of the baby wigs tug on a tail of the collar of the white shirt he wore under his black robe, as if to say "play with me!" Sören also wrote the word PURRRRRRRRRRR various places over the wig-pile surrounding the desk, and a PURRRRRRRR over George's head.  
  
Anthony was getting home later than usual - he was going out after work with a few of his colleagues since today's big court case was particularly difficult - and Sören took the Tube home. He needed to crash and take a nap as soon as he got in, and he left the doodle of Anthony, George, and the wig-Tribbles on the kitchen counter for Anthony to see when he got home, expecting to still be sleeping. Sören went to sleep shirtless in pajama bottoms.  
  
Sören was woken up by the feeling of something hairy crawling up his chest, and Sören leapt awake with a gasp just as the wig slid up his sternum and tickled his nose.  
  
"Prrrp?" The wig headbutted him like a friendly cat.  
  
Sören facepalmed and let out a howl, shaking, wheezing with laughter, tearing up. "Jesus _Christ_, Anthony..."  
  
Anthony was kneeling on the floor by the side of the bed - he'd attempted to duck so Sören wouldn't see him, only the wig, but there he was. His own face was red, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Laughing, flashing Sören that smile that made him all aflutter, Anthony leaned in to steal a kiss.  
  
"I brought home takeaway for you," Anthony said as Sören sat up.  
  
"Oh, _takk._" Sören put his arms around Anthony and kissed his brow.  
  
Sören followed Anthony out to the living room. Anthony seemed to sense intuitively that Sören was in the mood for fish and chips, and Sören said "Perfect," as he sat down, and then, "Or should that be _purrrrrrrrrrrrrr_-fect."  
  
"That Icelandic accent of yours could give Eartha Kitt herself a run for her money," Anthony said. "I'm going to get changed, I'll be back in a moment."  
  
A few minutes later Anthony came down in his pajamas and put on tea. He once again picked up the doodle Sören left for him on the kitchen counter and laughed, needing to lean on the counter with how hard he was laughing.  
  
"I'm glad you don't hate it," Sören said.  
  
"Sören, I love it. This was an early birthday present, right?"  
  
"Actually, I just did it because I felt like it while I was on break."  
  
"Well, I'm claiming this as my birthday gift. Although, if you're truly hung up on buying me something..." Anthony tapped the paper. "I want a frame for it. I'm going to put it on my desk."  
  
"Are you fucking _serious._"  
  
"Very." Anthony gave him a soft smile. "It'll remind me of you, and that'll help me stay sane during the day."  
  
"I take it court was bad today?"  
  
"Dear _god._" Anthony made a noise. "I won, but it was very ugly. I almost feel sorry for the poor sod from Crown Prosecution that I faced. _Almost._ I definitely needed to go out after work. Besides which, it's been awhile."  
  
When tea was ready, Anthony brought it over and sat next to Sören. "They were asking about you."  
  
"They as in..."  
  
"My friends. I used to go out to the pub with them at least once a week or so before you and I started dating, and I've been missing in action. With our schedules being what they are, I can't go back to once a week, but at least once or twice a month, they'd like to see me again. And, well... you could come with me."  
  
"So these people know you're gay..."  
  
"Yes. It's like I told you - I don't advertise but I'm not in the closet either. However, most of this lot has known me since my diploma conversion, so they know me well enough to know. And I mentioned you, besides." Anthony leaned in to give Sören a kiss. "They invited me out for my birthday on Saturday night. You have also been invited."  
  
Sören tried to not register disappointment. His demanding schedule as a neurosurgeon meant he didn't socialize much, but even if he wasn't so busy, he was a shy introvert and felt socially awkward at the best of times. He'd been bullied by his peers as a child and a teenager, and had never really gotten over it, choosing to keep to himself when he went to university. One of the few times when he'd managed to break past his reserve was a night when he went to a bar in Reykjavik to unwind and listen to music, and had encountered a pretty English girl that he felt a connection with right away. Of course she'd never used the contact info she'd given him, and her own phone was disconnected not long after the encounter which led Sören to believe that connection had been strictly one-sided and he probably creeped her out. Sören knew that he couldn't realistically expect Anthony to be a hermit like he was, especially when Anthony's job was so people-oriented, but he'd been hoping to either have a quiet, romantic evening at home or perhaps go out dancing again. The idea of being around a group of lawyers in a pub on a Saturday night made him want to run away screaming and it hadn't even started yet.  
  
But for Anthony, he would. This was Anthony's birthday, and Sören wanted to make him happy. It wasn't like they were going to do this all the time, just once in awhile.  
  
After Sören ate, they cuddled together on the couch, drinking tea, just quietly _being_ together, resting after what was a long, stressful day for both of them. Anthony finally broke the silence with, "You feel nice."  
  
"You feel nice, too." Sören chuckled. "I can't believe you like that picture enough to frame it and put it on your desk."  
  
"I do." Anthony reached for his hand. "Coming back to that was..." He sighed. "I needed it." He tilted Sören's face to his. "I need you." They kissed.  
  
When they finished their tea, Anthony got up, took Sören's hand, pulled him up, and led him to the bedroom. They made slow, sweet love together, kissing as cock rubbed against cock, cocks gliding together to climax, then for the encore they lay on their sides and sucked and rimmed each other to a second, powerful orgasm.  
  
As they lay there in the afterglow, holding each other, legs entwined, snow falling outside, Sören watched Anthony resting and his fingers lovingly traced the chiseled features. He'd doodled Anthony but now he wanted to sketch him. He wanted to do a proper portrait. Anthony had liked the doodle enough to claim it as his birthday gift, and Sören felt that if that were so, Anthony should have real art for his birthday. And if he wasn't so worn out from the day he'd had, he'd paint - he'd found over the years that sex made him feel creative, and when he was doing more art he was also hornier; one fed the other. But it was such a pain to get set up with the oils.  
  
Sören heard himself making a noise. Anthony's eyes fluttered open. "You OK?" Anthony mumbled, snuggling closer to him.  
  
"Jæja, it's just..." Sören sighed.  
  
Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Out with it," he said, more awake this time.  
  
"I just... once again... really hate that I can't paint anymore because of what a pain in the arse it is to get set up, and how endlessly fucking tired I am. I either need less hours - which isn't happening, as a junior surgeon - or I need some other medium."  
  
Anthony lay there awake, and even though his expression was completely neutral, Sören knew by now that look in his eye meant the gears in his head were turning. After a couple minutes Anthony said, "If you had something like a computer tablet with a stylus that you could use as a pen and a brush, and it wasn't terrible to learn how to use the different features, blend colors..."  
  
"That would be ideal, but I hear those things are an arm and a leg - for the good ones, anyway - and I never have time to go shopping even for really basic shit, never mind taking hours to compare the different kinds of tablets."  
  
Anthony nodded and patted Sören's shoulder. "I'm sorry. It was a thought."  
  
"It was a thought."  
  
Anthony kissed Sören's cheek. "We should get some rest now, love."  
  
"OK." Sören kissed him back and his arms tightened around Anthony. "Good night, Anthony." He snickered. "Good night, George."  
  
  
_  
  
  
On his break on Wednesday Sören took off to a department store where he found a suitable frame for Anthony's picture, and on impulse he bought himself several pairs of sexy thong underwear in assorted colors - some silky, some lacy - remembering Anthony telling him that he would like to see Sören in that type of underwear, so breaking out a pair for Anthony's impending birthday seemed ideal.  
  
Before he left the department store he visited the electronics section just to have a look at the tablets, and boggled at the price tags. He made a decent income as a neurosurgeon but he wasn't rich by any means and his thrifty upbringing meant he had a hard time justifying spending a hundred quid on something for himself, let alone the prices these tablets were going for. Back at the hospital he put his shopping bag in one of the small lockers reserved for staff use, and when he scrubbed back in Colin said, "You look like you've been in a war zone."  
  
"Jæja, I went shopping for my boyfriend's birthday."  
  
"Oh." Colin laughed. "Diana has no idea what to get him."  
  
"That seems to be a common affliction." Sören couldn't believe he was disclosing something this personal, but he opened up and said, "I made him a little cartoon and he wants to frame it, and I want to be able to make him proper art, you know, a painting..."  
  
"Ah. I'd seen you draw on break before but I didn't realize it was _a thing._"  
  
Sören nodded. "Art is almost as strong a calling as medicine. It's a real passion of mine. Just sucks that I have such limited time for it. Anthony suggested getting one of those tablets but the cheapest good one is like _six hundred quid._ That's fucking _crazy._"  
  
"Ouch, yeah, that's a bit steep." Colin snickered. "Maybe ask Anthony to buy you one?"  
  
"Dear god, I can't ask for something like that!"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"He's my partner. I'm not... bloody... _using_ him for his money."  
  
Then Sören's cell phone went off. He was going to ignore it because he was at work, but it was a text notification and he had a feeling as to who this was from; it might be important. He checked his cell and saw Anthony's number.  
  
_Day is running overtime and I'll be home a little late, am taking a detour to pick up takeaway. Let me know if you're in the mood for anything._  
  
Sören couldn't resist. _Oh, there's something I'm in the mood for, all right._  
  
Anthony shot back a few minutes later: _Ha ha, I mean to eat._  
  
And then Anthony sent seconds later: _I mean food._  
  
Sören's laughter rang out. _Indian? Curry?_  
  
_OK! Love you._  
  
Sören washed his hands again after handling his cell phone. Even though it bore the news that Anthony would be late, just seeing a text from him brightened Sören's spirits and he had a little bounce in his step as he went in to see his next patient.  
  
Sören didn't nap when he got home, but waited up for Anthony, and when he heard Anthony arriving he got up and opened the door. Anthony gave him a kiss, and when Sören took the takeaway bag out of his hand he saw Anthony had a shopping bag in the other. Sören gave him a suspicious look; Anthony kept a poker face but his eyes were mischievous.  
  
They ate together on the couch, and Sören's eyes kept wandering to the shopping bag sitting on the kitchen counter. "What's that?" he asked. "Early birthday gift from the office?"  
  
Anthony chuckled. "Hardly." He patted Sören. "You'll see."  
  
When they were finished eating, Anthony brought the shopping bag over to Sören. "For you," he said and thrust it at him.  
  
Sören had no idea what was in it - he wondered if Anthony had been thinking about Sören in sexy underwear too and now Sören would have even more sexy underwear in his collection - and he reached inside and pulled out a brand-new-in-box WaCom tablet. Sören began shrieking.  
  
"YOU SNEAKY BASTARD!" Sören shouted as Anthony laughed. Sören screamed again. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA..."  
  
Anthony grinned at him.  
  
"_Ég get ekki fokking trúa því... þú ert mér of góður... Ég elska þig svo mikið, þetta er of mikið, fallegi bastardinn þinn!_" Sören teared up.  
  
Anthony pulled him into a kiss, and then he kissed the tears that flowed. "I wanted to give you a way to do something important to you."  
  
"Anthony." Sören stroked Anthony's cheek. "I... I wasn't expecting this. When you brought it up late last night and I commented on how expensive these are, I wasn't fishing, wasn't trying to get you to buy me one..."  
  
"I know." Anthony patted him. "I did this because I want to. I like spoiling you."  
  
"Já, I... I got that. I just don't want you to think I'm after you for your money..."  
  
Anthony gave him a stern look. "_Sören._ I have never _once_ thought that. That said, if there's something you need or want, I don't mind you asking me. I want to take care of you."  
  
"I don't need or want a sugar daddy," Sören said, shaking his head. "I like being with another professional because you understand the hours, the craziness, but your worth to me as a partner is independent of your income. This is what matters to me." He put his hand on Anthony's heart. And then, needing a moment of levity, his hand slid lower, to the bulge in Anthony's trousers. "And this."  
  
Anthony stole another kiss. "I know. I still want to do nice things for you. It's... it's a love language for me, I suppose. You haven't had much..."  
  
_You don't know the half of it._ Sören still hadn't gotten into the full horror story of his younger years, though he knew Anthony was observant enough to pick up on things unsaid.  
  
"...and something like this," Anthony gestured to the tablet. "What I've seen of your art, you have a gift that shouldn't go neglected. It broke my heart over the weekend to see you so frustrated at being too exhausted to paint. This isn't quite the same as oil painting but it's something."  
  
"Oh, it's definitely something. I've seen what people can do with a tablet over on deviantART and it's impressive. I just don't want you to feel used, or like you have to buy my love..."  
  
Anthony took Sören's hands and kissed them. "I don't."  
  
"And I don't know what you're in the habit of telling your friends, but please don't tell them you dropped money on this for me. I don't want them to think I'm some kind of whore."  
  
"Oh my _god_, Sören. You're a doctor, I assure you they won't think that."  
  
_And if I wasn't a doctor?_ But Sören didn't voice the question. And Anthony didn't give him much more opportunity to sit and fret about the cost, because now Anthony was pulling Sören along to the bedroom. "I've missed you," Anthony husked between kisses.  
  
"God, I've missed you too." Sören began undoing Anthony's tie, smiling that as always he was wearing the tie Sören bought him for Christmas. "I love you, you know."  
  
"I know." Anthony kissed him hard.  
  
When they were naked in bed, kissing, hands roaming, Anthony paused between kisses, looked into Sören's eyes, and said, "My big brother takes care of everyone else all the time. You should let little brother take care of you sometimes."  
  
Sören's cock leapt at that and he kissed Anthony hard. Anthony rolled onto his back, pulling Sören atop him, and spread his thighs, knees up, looking at Sören expectantly. Sören kissed him hungrily as he readied him, and when Sören was all the way inside Anthony husked, "That's it, big brother. Let little brother make you feel better after a long day."  
  
Sören groaned and gave in to his animal side right away, fucking hard. Anthony loved it, clawing Sören's back, biting him, growling, panting and gasping as he bucked underneath. Sören brought him off hard and fast and then gave into a blinding climax of his own, hearing himself cry out "_Bróðir minn, bróðir minn, litli bróðir, litli bróðir..._" as he spent, Anthony responding with a deep groan and a shudder, shooting again over Sören's flesh.  
  
Then Sören slipped out, and after kissing and petting for a few minutes their hands were groping again, cocks waking up once more, and Sören straddled Anthony's hips and rode him. Anthony fucked Sören just as hard as he'd been fucked, Sören grabbing onto the headboard to hang on as he rode Anthony like a wild bull. "Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod Anthony, fuck me," Sören cried out, bouncing furiously. "Fuck me brother, FUCK ME..."  
  
They came together, screaming, and when Sören collapsed into Anthony's arms he cried, overcome by the intimacy of their crossing-the-line game, that secret need in both of them, and the way Anthony loved him, wanted to be sweet to him after a lifetime of being ignored and neglected at best, abused at worst. They loved each other without guile, they trusted each other, they were each other's refuge from the crazy world, and Sören felt safe with him... safe enough to rest, safe enough to let his mind wander and for the first time in too long, try to explore and express himself.  
  
Anthony fell asleep soon after sex, and normally Sören would be right there with him, but he kept thinking about the WaCom tablet in the other room. Like a kid wanting to inspect what Santa left under the tree before the grownups got up on Christmas morning, Sören went down the hall to the living room, opened up the box, took out the tablet, and began reading the instructions.  
  
The only way to make sure he understood everything, of course, was to try it. He brought the tablet back down the hall to the bedroom and turned on the small lamp on his side of the bed - he found from past experience that both he and Anthony could sleep through the other's lamp being on, on one of those sleepless nights when Anthony was working on a case like he was preparing to go off to war, or where Sören couldn't shut off his mind and made himself read till he passed out. Anthony lay against him as Sören began to fiddle with the tablet, testing the stylus by doodling dickbutts, then testing the painting features, browsing the huge palette of colors, working on blending and shading, and other techniques.  
  
Sören was going to be working an overnight shift Thursday night into Friday afternoon, so being up late tonight wasn't the issue it normally would be, but even if that wasn't the case Sören found himself too entranced to stop.  
  
He wanted to make something for Anthony for his birthday - not that he minded Anthony claiming the doodle as his birthday gift, but if he had silly art on his desk, Sören thought he should have something serious in his office to balance it out. The question was what. Sören looked at Anthony sleeping next to him and once again was tempted to do a portrait of him, but a portrait of Anthony sleeping didn't seem right for his office. Sören stroked his beard, considering. It had to be another subject entirely... something that spoke of Anthony's watchful, carefully observant nature, a willingness to look at the other side of a story. But what?  
  
A random thought bubbled to the surface, from when they were newly dating. Sören's own observation about Anthony: _You want the world to think you're a Slytherin, but you're actually a Ravenclaw._  
  
That was it. A raven. Or, since Sören wanted this to be big enough for Anthony to hang on a wall, ravens plural.  
  
Sören thought about Anthony mentioning his interest in ancient history, archaeology, a field he likely would have gone into if not law. A lightbulb went off in Sören's head - just as Anthony seemed tickled by learning about Icelandic Christmas folklore, he might also appreciate a nod to Norse mythology. Sören had always regarded Odin with some wariness, not liking the idea of a god who stirred up strife for its own sake, who demanded such bloody sacrifices for his worship. But his ravens, Huginn and Muninn - Thought and Memory, who traveled the Nine Worlds and reported their happenings back to Odin - that, Sören found interesting. _Those are some cool-ass birds._ And with the iridescence in raven feathers, it would be the perfect way to try out "painting" on the new tablet.  
  
So it was that Sören stayed up the next couple of hours, sketching two ravens flying, making sure he got lots of detail. One of the only things he disliked about the tablet was its small size compared to a canvas, but he could also zoom in, and thus create large files that could be made into large prints. And he found he had more control with the stylus on the screen, than he did with trying to draw with paints on a canvas. He zoomed in and in and in to put in the tiniest details, and then back out to look at what he had so far. The ravens became incredibly lifelike, enough that it felt like they were watching him through the screen.  
  
Before Sören went to sleep for the night, he got a little bit of coloring done on one of the ravens. Only a small part of the body, and not as much shading and blending that even that small part would have, but it was a start. And enough of one that Sören could see the vision in his mind's eye - Huginn and Muninn, rainbow-black feathers, flying into a sunrise.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören is not a morning person in any world, in any incarnation. Nonetheless, he stirs when he feels the magic approaching, the touch of Anthony's energy being carried out to him. He quickly gets dressed and goes outside, waiting.  
  
The white raven descends with a scroll in its beak. It waits as Sören breaks the seal on the scroll and reads Anthony's request for Sören to come visit, with a parchment attached for Sören to write a response and send it back via the raven. He does, letting Anthony know he will be on his way soon.  
  
Anthony has moved out of their father's palace and has an estate of his own now, by the sea. It is both like the palace they grew up in, with its great halls and marble columns, and yet also unlike, with its walled garden full of exotic plants that Anthony is studying, and a menagerie of birds - especially the white ravens who serve as his trained messengers. And there are books upon books upon books, some of which Anthony has written himself - poetry, histories, even as a young man, has a reputation for being well-learned, well-spoken, wise.  
  
Some of that poetry Sören recognizes - love poetry that was written for him, and has since been glossed, that everyone assumes is for the wife he took, the sexless marriage when Anthony prefers men; to get children Sören assists, laying with both Anthony and his wife, transferring Anthony's seed so Anthony does not have to touch her himself. They cannot be open about the sin behind closed doors... the sin that Sören hungers for as soon as he lays eyes on his brother, the hunger he can feel in his brother as well, sparking between them even as Anthony remains cool and distant while prying eyes are around.  
  
The moment they are truly alone, they waste no time. Sören cries out as Anthony handles him roughly, the facade of the aloof, "wilting flower" scholar gone and replaced with a fire that burns as bright as his hair, like the light of a thousand suns. Anthony takes him hard and Sören claws him, begs for more, Anthony delighting in his fierce, proud brother _begging_ him, desperate and needy.  
  
And then, there is the tenderness. Sören and their other brother pretend to be enemies to keep up appearances, but sometimes it is hard to remember it is pretense. Already, Sören and his wife grow apart. There is no strife here, no neglect, only sweetness, Anthony as gentle as he was savage. This isn't just a social call, isn't just family visiting family for the sake of "the family business", but Sören was sent here because Anthony knew he needed _rest_, he could feel the distress through their bond over leagues. When Sören is angry, or bothered, emotions eating him alive like a star about to go nova, he usually withdraws into the heat of the forge to fight fire with fire... but now there is the cool ocean breeze, the scent of flowers, the play of birds, strong arms holding him, sensitive hands stroking him, and a glorious flood of silver-gold hair being wrapped around him like a blanket of light.  
  
"Let me take care of you, elder brother."  
  
In that silken blanket of light, Sören's inner darkness fades, at least for a little while.  
  
_  
  
Sören was still sleeping when Anthony had to go to work the next morning; Sören stirred with the alarm, grumbling, and he stopped grumbling as Anthony rained kisses over his face. Sören woke up hours later to a handwritten note on top of the tablet:  
  
_It's so cute that you couldn't wait to use the tablet, staying up playing with it like a big kid. It's also weirdly hot, to see you so enthusiastic about something. I'm going to miss you tonight while you're at work, but I'll come visit you on your break. (And I might have to take you in the supply closet.)_  
  
Sören giggled. "Incorrigible." Not that he could talk.  
  
He kissed the note and tucked it safely into the hollow book where he kept other mementos. He had some time to kill before work, so he resumed working on the painting. He didn't like to rush things but on the other hand this was simple enough - while still complex in the detail of the birds, the shading of the feathers, and the shading of the sunrise - that he felt he had a reasonable chance of finishing by Friday night or Saturday morning, at which point he'd take the file to a print shop, get a high-quality print and a nice frame.  
  
Sören felt more motivated to do art than he had in a long time. It wasn't just for Anthony, he knew, but for himself - he felt a small sense of victory and accomplishment, that he was "back in the saddle" again, riding the wave of inspiration as it came rather than sitting it out yet again because he was too tired.  
  
Sören thought about taking the tablet with him to work to continue the ravens-and-sunrise on his break, but with warning that Anthony was coming for said break he didn't want to be neglectful. Sören's break was before Anthony had to go to chambers, and Anthony looked dead tired that Friday morning but also happy to see Sören, and Sören was as always touched that Anthony was starting earlier than usual to see him. Anthony had coffee for them both, and they chatted about what they could discuss of the current goings-on in their respective jobs without breaking confidentiality.  
  
Anthony didn't take him in the supply closet but led him out to the Audi so they could sit and cuddle, which turned into a makeout session, which turned into them getting in the back of Anthony's car, giggling like a couple of horny teenagers up to mischief, and they sixty-nined. Just as Sören was hanging on that edge of climax, he took Anthony's cock out of his mouth, gave it a few teasing licks, and husked, "I'm starving for a taste of my brother."  
  
That set them both off, Sören coming so hard it almost hurt, and when they finished they leaned on each other in the back seat, Sören laughing with giddy post-orgasmic euphoria but also amusement at how shameless they were in their need for each other. Sören's laughter became tears when he was reluctant to go back, and part with Anthony till later - he'd missed Anthony so much last night, the missing him even worse at the ache he could see in Anthony's own eyes, and knowing Anthony hadn't slept well, again, without him there in bed.  
  
Sören got home before Anthony did in the late afternoon. On the Tube ride back, on impulse he called Anthony's mother Elaine to ask, "What kind of cake does your son like? What's his favorite?" And then Sören took a detour at the grocery store to pick up ingredients to bake a lemon cake.  
  
While the cake was in the oven, and dinner in the slow cooker, Sören worked on the ravens-and-sunrise, continuing to be enchanted by the way it was coming together, watching the magic unfold. He thought about the dream of the white raven, and he wondered about it - that dream had felt so real, much more vivid and intense than his dreams usually felt, like he was awake and living it. And it seemed _odd_ for his brain to regurgitate thinking about ravens, and roleplaying being brothers during sex, in such a manner - he'd had dreams referencing things on his mind, and this wasn't quite it.  
  
_I've been working a lot of hours, I'm dead on my feet constantly, I probably am having more intense dreams because I'm so damn tired._  
  
It felt like the ravens were watching him again, and in his mind's eye Sören saw a vague flicker of the Sydney Opera House, which made no sense to him.  
  
_Definitely way too fucking tired for life._  
  
Sören frosted the lemon cake when it cooled, and then he wrapped it and put it in the fridge, even though he knew it wasn't that much of a disguise and Anthony would be able to tell that was a birthday cake in there.  
  
Sören wouldn't be done with the painting tonight before Anthony got home, but he _would_ be done tomorrow morning if he got up early, and he was sure Anthony would excuse him for an hour or two on Saturday morning if he said he had to get a frame for the picture... which wasn't a lie, it was just a different picture.  
  
Anthony came home in a bad mood, having had a difficult day, but he quickly recovered when Sören drew them a bubble bath - it was comical for the two tall men to fit in the bathtub, a bit of a tight squeeze, but that also meant cuddling. And he recovered even more when Sören took him to bed, gave him a massage, and then rode him.  
  
They took a nap after sex, and then later the timer went off in the kitchen and dinner came out of the slow cooker, the lamb stew that Anthony liked. Anthony continued to relax as he put his feet up and got some food in his system - Sören was concerned to hear that he hadn't eaten much all day due to nerves.  
  
"Are you _sure_ you want to go out tomorrow night?" Sören pursed his lips.  
  
Anthony nodded. "I'm kind of obligated to."  
  
"No, you're not. You're not anyone's slave."  
  
Anthony sighed. "I don't expect you to understand. Yes, I'll be fine to go out tomorrow." He gave Sören a little kiss. "You don't have to worry about me."  
  
"I worry about you anyway, because I love you. By the way, tomorrow morning I have to go out for a bit. I, ah... need to get you a frame."  
  
"OK. I might sleep in, in that case. I'm entitled."  
  
"Yes, you are. Live a little."  
  
In the morning as Anthony slept, Sören made two high-quality prints of the ravens-and-sunrise at the print shop - one large print for Anthony's office, one portfolio-sized, since Sören wanted to start keeping a binder of his finished work. And Sören realized, pacing around the print shop, that at least some of this trip was to burn off his nervous energy about meeting Anthony's friends later. He was going into it with low expectations, not assuming that Anthony's friends would automatically become his friends. But nonetheless, he was hoping they didn't get off on the wrong foot.  
  
The print shop had frames, and Sören had the large print put in a frame right there. It was a pain in the ass to lug back on the Tube, but this was what Sören did for love. And when he got back, Anthony was awake, making tea, and his eyes widened as he saw Sören carrying in the large frame. "Sören, what did you do."  
  
Sören showed him.  
  
"Oh my god, Sören, is that for me?" Anthony's eyes widened.  
  
"No, it's for George."  
  
Anthony gave him a filthy look, and then he threw his arms around Sören, rained kisses over his face, visibly touched. "Sören. I don't know what to say. I guess, _wow_, that's beautiful. It looks so _real_."  
  
"It's Huginn and Muninn," Sören said, and explained, "Their names mean Thought and Memory. They're from Norse mythology. I thought it was, you know, fitting, considering your line of work, the questions you ask, the observations you make, the way you have to put it all together and convince people it's the truth, it's the way things happened..."  
  
Anthony kissed him hard. "It's not only beautiful work, it's beautifully symbolic, and I love that you put a bit of history into that as well. My god, Sören. Can I hang this in my office? Do you mind?"  
  
"That's exactly what I intended."  
  
Anthony started dragging him off to the bedroom, and Sören giggled, "Wait, there's cake. I went to the trouble of baking you a cake, you need to have some of it."  
  
"We can bring cake into the bloody bedroom. I need you."  
  
Sören laughed at the urgency, though it also sent a frisson down his spine, sent his own cock surging upward with hot, sharp need of his own. He cut two pieces of cake and brought them down to the bedroom where Anthony waited on the bed, propped up on one elbow, stroking himself idly.  
  
Then Anthony got all choked up again. "How did you know lemon is my favorite?"  
  
"Huginn and Muninn told me." Sören couldn't resist the madness. "Well actually they told George, and then George told me..."  
  
Anthony went back and forth between glaring at Sören and laughing, and finally Sören admitted, "I asked your mum."  
  
"Well, that was lovely of you." Anthony's lips quirked. "Not as lovely as eating it off your naked body would be, however."  
  
He proceeded to do just that, eating bits of cake from Sören's chest and stomach, licking the skin clean, making Sören moan and harden even more, and then Anthony fed Sören his piece of cake from his fingers, like Sören was a pet being given a treat. Sören licked and sucked his fingers, and then when the cake was gone, Sören dove down between Anthony's legs and licked at the hard cock ready for him. "I like this better," Sören husked, before taking the cock into his mouth.  
  
  
_  
  
  
After making love for the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon, pleasing each other in different positions, they napped together and were woken up by the alarm clock set to give them time to get ready for their outing.  
  
Anthony's friends were meeting him at an upmarket restaurant-and-bar in Kingston, which meant they wouldn't have to go far, could leave their car at home, and could have some drinks. Sören was at a loss as far as what to wear, and Anthony said, "What you wore on our first date is fine. That's what I'll be wearing, too."  
  
Sören smiled that Anthony still remembered that, but then, he knew he shouldn't be surprised that Anthony remembered that.  
  
The only change Sören made to that outfit was breaking in one of the new thongs - black lace. He smiled at the naughtiness of it, and what he intended to give Anthony as his final birthday gift later that evening.  
  
At the restaurant, they were escorted to a larger table in the back. Sören counted five heads, with Anthony making six and Sören making a seventh. "Everyone, this is Sören," Anthony said as they arrived, arm-in-arm. Anthony gestured.  
  
"Sören, this is Jack." A thin, handsome man with short dark brown hair, hazel brown eyes, clean-shaven and wearing a green sweater and expensive Rolex, waved.  
  
"Lawrence." A tall, muscular bald man in a white blazer and black vest, with deep black skin, and an equally deep voice that said, "How do you do."  
  
"Trisha." The one woman in the group, a short blonde bob, blue eyes, thin and model-pretty, wearing a lavender camisole under a royal purple cardigan. Sören took her hand and kissed it, old-school, which made her blush and laugh.  
  
"Vincente." A man with an Italian name who sounded perfectly English when he said, "Nice to meet you," olive-skinned, short hair as curly and dark as Sören's, piercing blue eyes, clean-shaven, square-jawed, wearing black-framed square glasses and a black tie with a burgundy blazer.  
  
"Aaaaaaaaand Steve."  
  
Steve _looked_ like a Steve. He looked like a little shit, with short, somewhat unruly auburn hair, brown eyes, a big cheesy devil-may-care grin and cleft chin. Steve was wearing a black blazer and a bright blue tie, and reached up to try to muss Anthony's hair, which got Anthony smacking his hand away. Steve then pumped Sören's hand vigorously.  
  
"So you're the one who whipped our boy Anthony," Steve quipped.  
  
"Steve, please." Anthony facepalmed as he sat down.  
  
"What? You all but disappeared off the face of the Earth the last month and a half, if we didn't see you at Temple we'd have thought aliens abducted you. Though, I guess an alien of sorts did abduct you. You're from, ah, Finland, right?"  
  
"Iceland," Anthony said before Sören could answer.  
  
"Right. Well, a toast, then." Steve reached for a bottle of champagne that was on the table and poured drinks for everyone. Steve raised his glass and said, "To our birthday boy... and his birthday toy."  
  
Sören didn't know whether to be amused, offended, or both. Anthony looked irritated, but then Steve attempted to deflect the tension by saying, "I'm sorry. We're just all in a state of collective shock that Anthony has settled down."  
  
"But a good shock," Trisha added. "And my god, I didn't know the NHS had such hot doctors! I think I need to get myself into an emergency posthaste."  
  
Sören blushed and Anthony put an arm around Sören's shoulders.  
  
"It's good to have you back, Anthony," Lawrence said, smiling. "I was all alone here as the token Black friend... now we've got the token gay friend again..."  
  
"That's _learned_ token gay friend," Anthony quipped. "_Learned._"  
  
"I notice you didn't add _learned_ to my bit." Lawrence raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Well no, that would imply you spent time studying during our diploma conversion and I think we all know what you were doing instead."  
  
"Oh please, like you weren't out there chasing tail yourself." Lawrence turned to Sören and said, "Anthony used to be a _dog._ A gay version of a dog."  
  
"I was not anywhere near as bad as a couple of you," Anthony said. "And there was far less cocaine involved."  
  
Steve almost spat his champagne. "I didn't do that much."  
  
"You did enough. I thought for sure you were going to end up as one of my clients." Anthony rolled his eyes.  
  
"You say 'far less'..." Sören raised his eyebrows.  
  
"I tried it exactly twice. It... wasn't my thing," Anthony said. "And not anywhere near worth its price tag. I like spending my money on better, non-chemical highs."  
  
"Speaking of which," Jack said, "who wants to see my new yacht?"  
  
Anthony looked incredulous. "You bought a yacht."  
  
"I sure did. I've been thinking about it for months, now I'm living the dream."  
  
"The harbors are all frozen, you bought it and what... you're going to sit on it for months?"  
  
Jack shrugged. "Here, look at this with me." Jack pulled out his phone and accessed a photo gallery, and began to pass the phone around.  
  
Sören supposed that a normal person would be impressed, but Sören found himself vaguely annoyed that Jack was introducing himself right off the bat with such an ostentatious display of wealth, which seemed like a very show-off-ish, braggart thing to do. That would have been bad enough on its own, but then Vincente had to share pictures of his new Mercedes, which got Trisha into showing off her new pair of Louboutin shoes right there, Vincente showing that he was also wearing Louboutins, and finally Steve one-upped everyone by saying his grandmother just promised to put him in the will for her vacation home in the Bahamas. "It's gonna be sweet when that old bird goes," Steve said.  
  
Sören tried not to make a face. He glanced over at Anthony, who rolled his eyes at Sören but otherwise said nothing. Sören felt like grabbing Anthony, pulling him aside, and asking him why he didn't yell at Steve for seeming to salivate over the death of a family member, which seemed fairly cold and heartless, but he held off.  
  
One thing was for certain - he didn't like Anthony's friends. And he didn't like the way Anthony seemed vaguely amused by them as they showed off their baubles trying to one-up each other, like they were idiot jesters putting on a performance for him to internally snark at. He didn't get it how Anthony would want to spend his time that way.  
  
Lawrence seemed to be the least obnoxious of the group, as he hadn't shown off his latest expenditure, and gave Steve a little frown as Steve rattled off all the other things his grandmother was willing him. Finally Lawrence spoke up and said, simply, "I wish my gran were still with us."  
  
Anthony nodded, giving Steve a frosty look. "My father's parents died when I was rather young. My mother's father died about a decade ago. Her mother is still with us, thankfully. She's got quite a bit of life in her yet."  
  
"My grandmum was like that too, and then she went quick," Trisha said. Then she smirked. "She was the one who took me on my first trip to Christian Dior, when I was fourteen."  
  
_Oh my god, please, who the fuck takes fourteen-year-old kids to Christian Dior._ Sören felt ready to vomit.  
  
The food was reasonably good though not the best Sören ever had - he had shrimp, and used cocktail sauce for his fries, as many Icelanders did, which finally got Steve giving him a weird look. "Mate, what are you doing?"  
  
"...Eating?" Sören nibbled a fry.  
  
"You don't put cocktail sauce on chips! That's... that's just wrong!"  
  
"Iceland missed that memo, I guess." Sören dunked his fry again just to prove a point.  
  
"That's not even the strangest thing you lot eat, is it? I heard you eat shark." Trisha gave Anthony a pointed look; Anthony flushed beetroot and Sören wondered what that was about. "And sheep's heads and things."  
  
"Some of us eat that, já, but reports have been greatly exaggerated. It's not something most of us eat every day. I've never had sheep's head." Sören felt his irritation increasing - a lot of non-Icelanders had some very strange concepts about Iceland. On the one hand Iceland was remarkably good at preserving its language and some cultural traditions, on the other hand Iceland was thoroughly modern, to the point where even farmers in rural areas tended to have the Internet; the average Icelander was more likely to have had Domino's Pizza recently than sheep's head. Sören didn't like being treated as some sort of exotic commodity, even as he was usually very proud of being Icelandic and normally liked sharing bits of history and folklore and language.  
  
Anthony stole one of Sören's fries and dipped it in cocktail sauce, as if to show solidarity, and Sören smiled at him; Anthony squeezed his knee under the table as he ate the fry he stole.  
  
"Oh bloody hell, he's corrupted you," Steve said.  
  
"He certainly has." Anthony winked at Sören, and now Sören giggled and blushed.  
  
_Well, at least there's that._  
  
After the meal the group went to the bar. Sören noticed that even though Anthony wasn't driving, he still limited his alcohol intake in public, which Sören thought was wise, and followed suit - on Sören's end, in large part because he didn't trust his brain-to-mouth filter under the influence, not to tell Steve and the others they were idiots. It became more apparent in the bar, as the others talked about their recent cases and Anthony listened, that Anthony seemed a bit bored and was sitting in silent judgment to a point, and Sören once again wanted to ask why he was wasting his time with this. But he didn't. He waited for Anthony to take the initiative to get bored enough so they could get home. And waiting for that moment dragged on and on, until finally Sören had enough and he came closer to Anthony and whispered, "Can we go soon?"  
  
Anthony nodded, nipping on his bottle of ale. "Soon," Anthony said sotto voce.  
  
A few minutes later, when Jack was going on about a minor celebrity he currently had as a client and getting a bit catty, and Sören felt even more uncomfortable, he decided to up the ante. "I want my brother to take me home and show me how nasty he can be," Sören whispered.  
  
Anthony cleared his throat loudly and announced, "We're, ah, going to go now. It's getting later..." It wasn't that late, but it was late enough as far as Sören was concerned. "And I have to be at my mum's tomorrow." That wasn't entirely a lie - they were invited to Sunday dinner, and Elaine and Roger would fuss over Anthony for his birthday, but they wouldn't be going till the late afternoon.  
  
The group was all smiles as they bid them farewell. And when Jack said to Sören, "It was great meeting you!" Sören's reflex reaction was _Yeah, fuck you._  
  
On the taxi ride back, Anthony made out with Sören, and Sören got into it, but when they got in the flat, Sören said, "Anthony, can I be blunt with you for a minute?"  
  
"Yes, always be honest with me, Sören. I can tell when you're not."  
  
Sören took a deep breath. "Your friends are arseholes."  
  
Anthony nodded. "Yes. Yes they are."  
  
That answer surprised Sören, and he sat down. "Why?"  
  
"Why what? Why are they arseholes, or -"  
  
"No... why do you bother with them?"  
  
"I've known them for a long time," Anthony said. "They may be idiots, but they're my idiots, I guess."  
  
Sören was pretty sure they weren't "his" anything, but he didn't say that aloud. "That one with the dying grandmother? Steve? That was so crass..."  
  
"It was, but what did you expect me to do, go cut-throat on him over my birthday celebration? You don't like me in lawyer mode all the time, do you? We're both lawyers, it would have turned into an argument, and when I'm trying to unwind I pick my battles. Steve is... Steve. Telling him a few things isn't going to change how he is, he's just like that. I know he came off badly tonight, he's not a saint, but he also sees the shit I put up with every day."  
  
Sören looked down. He could tell he'd hit a nerve, and he hadn't meant to make Anthony feel like he was on trial on his own birthday. "Sorry," Sören mumbled.  
  
"Sören, please don't be sorry for speaking your mind. I just hope you understand, these idiots have been a part of my life for awhile, and... they're trying to make you feel welcome too. I think some of it is just culture clash."  
  
_Not too much, if even you understood they were being a bit stupid._ But Sören decided to drop it, and Anthony, sensing how uncomfortable Sören was, gave him a hug.  
  
"It's only once or twice a month I'd be going out with them," Anthony said. "And I'd still like you to come with me." Anthony's lips quirked. "Someone can share my pain."  
  
Sören still didn't feel like he should waste his time but he knew it was easier said than done to drop longtime friends, even those who seemed to no longer fit where one was at now. He hadn't had many friends in his own life, but he understood how hard it was for professionals to even make friends and that Anthony would have no one apart from him if he let them go, and it would probably make things awkward for him professionally as well - this was a large part of why Sören avoided socializing with Colin Traynor outside of work, much as he liked Colin very much and knew Colin wanted to hang out and they'd probably become good friends, because if for whatever reason that friendshp went pear-shaped or otherwise drifted apart, that was a source of awkwardness where he had to work every day. _"Don't shit where you eat", and all of that._  
  
Now Anthony's eyes raked Sören. "You didn't make me leave there early to lecture me about my friends, though, did you."  
  
Sören felt a little defensive that Anthony was calling it a "lecture" - though he supposed on Anthony's end it felt like one. Sören nonetheless wanted to change the mood... they both needed it. Sören gave him a cheeky grin and went to the stereo, where he had readied a certain song on an R&B playlist for this moment.  
  
Sören began to swivel and thrust his hips in time with the music, eyes locked with Anthony's before he turned around and gave Anthony a good look at his leather-trousers-clad ass.  
  
_I'm just a bachelor  
I'm looking for a partner  
Someone who knows how to ride  
Without even falling off  
Gotta be compatible  
Takes me to my limits  
Girl when I break you off  
I promise that you won't want to get off_  
  
Sören took off his shirt and threw it at Anthony, and danced closer to him, but just out of reach. Smiling seductively at the heat in Anthony's eyes, the growing bulge in Anthony's black jeans.  
  
_If you're horny, let's do it  
Ride it, my pony  
My saddle's waiting  
Come and jump on it  
  
If you're horny, let's do it  
Ride it, my pony  
My saddle's waiting  
Come and jump on it_  
  
Sören began to work on his leather trousers, really putting his hips and ass into it now.  
  
_Sitting here flossing  
Peeping your steelo  
Just once if I have the chance  
The things I will do to you  
You and your body  
Every single portion  
Send chills up and down your spine  
Juices flowing down your thigh_  
  
The leather pants came off and Sören revealed the lacy black thong he was wearing. Anthony's cheeks were pink and he was breathing harder... and definitely hard.  
  
Now Sören came close, grinding up on Anthony's lap, running his hands over Anthony's chest, letting Anthony touch him.  
  
_If we're gonna get nasty, baby  
First we'll show and tell  
Till I reach your ponytail  
Lurk all over and through you baby  
Until we reach the stream  
You'll be on my jockey team_  
  
Sören took a few steps back, working his hips some more, swaying, thrusting, teasing out of reach.  
  
_If you're horny, let's do it  
Ride it, my pony  
My saddle's waiting  
Come and jump on it_  
  
He came back for the big finish, taking Anthony's hand and putting it right on the bulge in his own thong, hands on Anthony's shoulders, leaning in for a kiss.  
  
_If you're horny, let's do it  
Ride it, my pony  
My saddle's waiting  
Come and jump on it_  
  
Anthony picked Sören up off the floor and carried Sören down the hall to the bedroom, Sören shrieking and giggling. Anthony put Sören down on the bed, undressed as quickly as he could - Sören moaned at the sight of the hard cock set free - and then Anthony got on the bed and took off Sören's lacy black thong with his teeth, growling, making Sören buck against him as his own cock leapt out, going crazy at the look of lust in Anthony's eyes.  
  
Anthony then rolled Sören on top of him, laying on his back, reaching for the lube. "I hope you're ready for a good ride," Anthony said, pushing his fingers into Sören, who began to work his hips again, fucking himself on Anthony's fingers.  
  
"I hope you're ready for me to ride you hard," Sören rasped.  
  
And like that, nothing else mattered. Sören forgot about Anthony's friends, or any tension bristling between them. Anthony Hewlett-Johnson ended the first day of the thirty-second year of his life being ridden into the sunset, Sören taking his cock as long as he was willing and able to give it, wanting to give his special, beloved brother a very special birthday. Sören had a record amount of orgasms that night, losing count after five, and he knew it was far from the last one. He was well-used, and it was well worth it, giving himself as the final gift, which Anthony thought was the best one of all.


	13. Eye of the Tiger

Valentine's Day fell on a Tuesday this year; Sören had an overnight shift Monday night into Tuesday afternoon, which gave him the evening uninterrupted. He took a nap when he got home, while Anthony was still at Lincoln's Inn, and then Anthony woke him up by brushing a flower over his face, making Sören smile, leading to Sören giggling as Anthony rained kisses over him. Anthony had brought home a bouquet of stargazer lilies for Sören, who loved it, and promptly put the flowers in Sprite in a vase.  
  
Anthony brought home something else for Sören as well, a small box that was waiting on the coffee table when Sören went to the bathroom and came back out for tea. Anthony sat, hands folded on his chest, watching intently as Sören opened the box. Sören's laughter rang out when he saw what was inside - it was a vibrating buttplug.  
  
It was not simply a vibrating buttplug, but it was one with a remote-controlled vibrator. Anthony wanted to demonstrate, so after Sören lubed up and put it in - it was a tight fit, though not painful - he sat down on the couch and Anthony turned the switch on the tiny remote control, the vibrator starting inside Sören on its lowest setting. Sören moaned as the vibe purred away on his prostate; even on its lowest setting it was still delicious, and Anthony gave him a wicked grin.  
  
Anthony wanted Sören to wear the plug while they went out to dinner, which Sören thought was quite kinky of him - but he liked it. Anthony had reservations for a table for two at an upmarket surf-and-turf. He made a game of turning on the vibe when the waiter came by to take their order, with the vibe quietly purring away inside Sören as he tried to articulate what he wanted from the menu. Then when the waiter came back with their drinks, Anthony turned the vibe up, and Sören bit back a moan. Anthony turned the vibe back down to its lowest setting after a couple minutes, and when the waiter came back with their food, Anthony turned the vibe up again. The predatory look Anthony gave Sören as they ate made Sören ache to be taken right there, and of course the game wasn't over yet. When the waiter came round to ask how everything was, Anthony turned the vibe up to its next setting and Sören struggled to make words - he was very sure at this point the waiter must think he had some kind of speech impediment. Sören ordered fresh fruit for dessert, and when the waiter came back, Anthony turned the vibe as high as it could go, and kept it buzzing away as he fed Sören pieces of fruit.  
  
"Don't you dare come yet," Anthony whispered as he put a strawberry in Sören's mouth.  
  
Sören gave a little whimper in response. The teasing with the vibe at different speeds was so intense Sören could barely stand it, and now he was right on the verge of coming in his pants and Anthony dangled him on that edge of orgasm, dominating him, holding back his release. Sören was rock-hard when they got up from the table - grateful that his coat would hide the erection as they made their way out of the restaurant - and as he walked, the friction of walking combined with the vibration inside him in such a way that Sören almost came, desperately holding back. He was a wreck when they got in the Audi, panting, shaking, whimpering, and begged, "Please."  
  
Anthony laughed at him and turned the vibe down to its lowest setting. Still working inside him, but now more gently than before - teasing and teasing. And as Anthony drove back to the flat in Kingston, Sören felt like screaming, the tension in him building and building, ready to explode, made all the more maddening because Anthony looked so damn _hot_ knowing he was in control here, reveling in the power he had over Sören, enjoying this way too much.  
  
When they got back to the flat Sören couldn't stand it anymore. He began pawing Anthony as soon as they got their coats and shoes off. "Now," Sören begged.  
  
Anthony laughed softly. "What's the rush, darling? I've been teasing you for the last two hours, surely another few minutes won't hurt -"  
  
"RIGHT. FUCKING. NOW." Sören began pushing Anthony back towards the couch. When they were at the edge of the couch, Sören gave Anthony a shove, and then he fell on Anthony's knee, reaching down to undo his belt and trousers, then his own. Anthony reached to pull the plug out of Sören's ass, and slapped it hard. Sören's already-hard cock leapt, precum pooling out of the slit down the shaft, and Sören's breath hitched.  
  
"Well then." Anthony, his own hard cock free now, grabbed Sören's hips and pulled Sören over to straddle him. Sören was already lubed up to wear the plug, and plenty open and ready from the plug having teased him so long. Sören gasped and moaned as Anthony stretched him, filled him, buried to the hilt, and Anthony gave a deep groan of satisfaction when he was all the way inside that almost set Sören off to climax.  
  
Sören began to ride slowly - everything was so intense, after all that teasing. But Anthony was having none of that. "If you're so impatient and desperate for it," Anthony rasped, "then it's time you got what you wanted." He grabbed Sören's hips again and began to fuck him hard, with Sören grabbing onto his shoulders as he bounced away, screaming with pleasure as Anthony's cock found that exquisite rhythm inside him, rubbing just the right way, stoking Sören's fire hotter and hotter, now blazing out of control. And as much as Sören loved the sight of his man naked, there was something appealing about them being mostly fully clothed still, so hungry for it that they didn't even bother to get past freeing the parts that fit together, and Anthony still in his suit and tie just added to that feeling of being dominated, commanded. Sören loved it, utterly lost in the wild ride, so badly needing to come and yet so badly needing to be fucked like this, claimed, _taken_.  
  
Sören's screams became broken cries, and then little whimpers, gasping for breath, his entire body quivering. Sören tried to beg "please", and it came out as a little whine. Anthony laughed, took Sören's hand and kissed it, and then held it.  
  
"You are so beautiful right now," Anthony husked.  
  
Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, heat flooding his cheeks. He wanted to smile, but he was too far gone, a shuddering sharp exhale pushing out of him as the throbbing, teasing pleasure intensified, his need intensified. He let out a moan. Anthony could see how much precum Sören's cock was leaking, and he collected some of it on his fingers to taste - further driving Sören mad with lust - then he anointed his fingers again and stuck them in Sören's mouth for him to suck. With Anthony's fingers in Sören's mouth, and Anthony's other hand now playing with Sören's cock, he looked into Sören's eyes and commanded, "Come."  
  
Sören finally let go. The teasing and the hard fucking paid off into an explosive, shattering orgasm, Sören howling around the fingers in his mouth then giving a louder shout when his mouth was freed. He spent and spent and spent, his cum making a mess all over Anthony's dark navy suit and matching waistcoat. Anthony moaned and sighed as he came too - Sören smiled and made a purring noise as he felt the rush inside him, felt Anthony shaking underneath him - and then Anthony laughed as he saw Sören's cock continue to shoot. Sören laughed now too, hard enough that he started snorting, which made Anthony laugh even harder. When Sören collapsed on top of him, Anthony threw his arms around him and gave him a little kiss, grinning.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sören wheezed.  
  
"Hi Sorry."  
  
Sören gave him a mock glare; Anthony grinned again and tweaked Sören's nose before kissing the tip of Sören's nose. "Don't be sorry," Anthony said. "I would have to send it for dry cleaning anyway, and... besides, it was worth it."  
  
They snuggled on the couch for a bit, until they were recovered sufficiently to pull themselves off. They got undressed - Anthony started laughing again at the mess Sören made on his suit - and then Anthony said, "Here, now that we've both taken the edge off, I can spoil you properly."  
  
With that, Anthony drew them a bubble bath, and they cuddled in the heat and bubbles by candlelight, drinking champagne in the tub. Sören would never stop being amused by the tub being a tight fit with two tall men in there, nonetheless, it was nice and relaxing, and they had a bit of fun splashing each other. Sören also used his thumb and forefinger as a bubble wand, blowing bubbles at Anthony across the tub, laughing hysterically when one landed on his nose.  
  
"Oh, if the court could see you now," Sören said.  
  
"Oh god." Anthony rolled his eyes, shaking with silent laughter. "That would rather destroy my reputation."  
  
"It would be even worse if you were wearing George in here." Sören snickered. "He needs a bath."  
  
"I explained to you why he looks all ragged." Anthony then caught himself, facepalming. "I just referred to that wig as a he. Sören, _what have you done to me_."  
  
"Have you asked him if he wants to be all grungy-looking like that, or if he'd rather have a bath?" Sören couldn't resist teasing him. "I mean, shouldn't George get a say in his appearance?"  
  
Anthony glared, but his eyes crinkled at the corners. "_Sören Sigurðsson_, I swear to _god_."  
  
"Which god? The god of wigs? Jesus? Thor?" Then Sören quipped, "Wow, I appear to have invented a new deity here. The god of wigs, Jesus-Thor..."  
  
Anthony splashed him. Sören splashed him back, then he pretended to start to get out of the tub. "I'm going to get George and see if he wants to take a bath with us -"  
  
Anthony shoved him back and started tickling him. Sören giggled and shrieked helplessly, kicking around, until Anthony moved in such a way that Sören decided to see if he was ticklish as well, getting him underarm, and sure enough he was. They tickled each other mercilessly until Sören was making inhuman snorts that made Anthony tear up and double over at the sound of them.  
  
"Now if your patients could hear that..." Anthony chuckled. "Great thing to wake up to out of surgery, that noise. They'd think they were waking up in one of the levels of Hell..."  
  
"Jæja, fuck you." Sören giggled and splashed him again.  
  
When they decided they'd had enough of the tub, Anthony and Sören carried the still-burning votives and tealights out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, and lit more candles around the bedroom. Anthony had Sören lay down on his stomach and he took out the vanilla-flavored massage oil and spent the next hour working Sören over, rubbing down the back of him then the front, continuing to deepen Sören's relaxation while also building his arousal again. As his hands kneaded, Anthony had the plug going inside Sören again to further build the sexual tension back up, changing speeds up and down depending on where his hands were and how Sören was responding. When Sören lay on his back looking up at Anthony - who himself was rock hard - every now and again Anthony's hand would "accidentally" brush Sören's hard cock, smiling as it leapt to his touch. At last Anthony dove down, and turned up the vibe to a higher setting as he began to lick Sören's cock... just licking it up and down, from the head to the shaft and back again, teasing, making Sören writhe and pant and gasp and whimper.  
  
When Sören finally let out a breathy "_please_," Anthony just grinned at him and licked even more slowly and deliberately. Sören howled, almost sobbing, and begged "Please. Please, fucking _please_..." and then, looking in Anthony's eyes, he whispered, "Please, brother."  
  
Anthony took the plug out of Sören, and Sören thought for sure Anthony was going to replace it with his cock, but instead Anthony's tongue pushed into him. And for the next while that tongue took him to heaven, and higher than heaven, licking inside him so lusciously, as good as anything had ever felt in Sören's life, his prostate as exquisitely sensitive as it was. Anthony ate him by turns delicately and passionately, his tongue switching speeds as the vibrating plug had, but even better, more precise. Sören heard himself screaming, felt himself rocking his hips like he was possessed by the animal part of him, fucking himself desperately on Anthony's tongue, which made Anthony grab Sören's hips, holding him in place, and his tongue slowed down even more. But at last, Anthony devoured him and let go of Sören's hips, Sören thrusting to match the rhythm of the tongue fucking away inside him, and like that Sören gave in to one of the most intense orgasms he'd ever had, pleasure so good it made him cry. Anthony came up to kiss his tears, pulled Sören close and rocked him.  
  
"Thank you," Sören breathed, the euphoria bathing him in light, in heat, feeling love so fiercely, so much it hurt. "I love you. Thank you. _Takk ástin mín, ég elska þig._"  
  
Anthony kissed Sören's brow and looked into his eyes, stroking Sören's cheek. "I loved doing that for you. I love you."  
  
"I guess you did," Sören laughed, reaching for Anthony's hard cock, completely slick with precum. "Whatever shall we do with this?"  
  
"Whatever you want, love."  
  
Sören lay Anthony back against the pillows, and took Anthony's cock into his mouth. He sucked slowly at first - paying him back at least a little for all the teasing - but lust got the better of him and a few minutes into it he was sucking harder, faster, his own cock hardening up again at Anthony's moans, the look of ecstasy on his face as Sören pleasured him. It didn't take long for Anthony to be undone, flooding Sören's mouth, who savored every drop as he swallowed it down and licked him clean.  
  
As Sören lay there cradled against Anthony's chest while Anthony recovered, Sören licked his lips, loving the lingering taste of him, and when Anthony pulled him into a kiss, Sören husked, "I want seconds."  
  
Anthony smiled. "Only if I can taste you too."  
  
Sören smiled back. "I think that can be arranged."  
  
Sören sat on Anthony's shoulders, and leaned down, laying on top of him. Anthony moaned into Sören as his tongue pushed inside and Sören's mouth wrapped around his cock; Sören moaned with his mouth full as Anthony's tongue worked its magic inside him once more. After awhile they lay at each other's sides, both sucking and rimming each other, taking their time getting there, completely lost in each other and the need to please and be pleasured. And when they could feel each other at the point of no return, they took each other's hands and climaxed together, filling each other's mouths, crying out with their mouths full.  
  
Kissing, sharing the taste of them together, Sören needed more. Anthony lay back and Sören repaid him some more for his teasing, working his tongue inside him, stroking himself to the deliciousness of Anthony's moans and sighs and the heat in his eyes. When Anthony grabbed Sören's curls, pulling him up, Sören was still in a teasing mood, fucking him slowly at first, savoring the silken heat kissing his cock. And then Anthony slapped Sören's ass and growled, making Sören's cock throb, and with one of Anthony's legs on Sören's shoulder, Sören gave him the savage, punishing thrusts he wanted - that Sören himself wanted, loving that feeling of the beast in him coming out to play, taking. After awhile Anthony pulled Sören down against him and clawed his back, kissing feverishly as he worked his hips back at Sören, urging him on even harder, until Sören didn't know who was fucking who. Sören cried out at Anthony's teeth on his neck and shoulder, and the feeling of Anthony's nails raking him with each moan Anthony made threatened to send Sören over the edge, but he held back, wanting his lover to come first. And at last Anthony did, giving in to a loud, messy orgasm that Sören found deeply gratifying, throwing back his head and crying out as he spent into the man he loved.  
  
It still wasn't enough. When Sören slipped out of him, Anthony rolled Sören onto his back, produced a black cashmere scarf, and tied Sören's wrists to the headboard, looking tenderly into Sören's eyes as Sören looked up at him with love and trust. Anthony fucked him slowly, sweetly, teasing Sören some more, kissing him again and again. When Anthony kissed and nipped at Sören's neck and throat, he rasped, "I should get you a leash and collar." Sören's cock throbbed at that, loving the thought of it, and he kissed Anthony back hard, bucking underneath him to encourage it. Anthony laughed and kept moving slowly a few minutes longer, and then when Sören moaned, "Please, brother," Anthony gave in to his own lust, driving into Sören furiously as Sören howled and writhed. Dozens of hungry kisses later, Sören met Anthony's eyes and begged, "Let me come." And with Anthony's teeth on Sören's throat, giving a growl, Sören let go, surrendering, exploding. Feeling Anthony spend into him, hearing him call out, "Sören, I love you," just made it even better.  
  
At some point Sören was aware of being untied, and Anthony getting up to snuff out the candles - Sören whined in protest of the suddenly cold, empty space in bed. Anthony got back in when the lights were off and cuddled Sören against him with a soft chuckle, tousling Sören's curls, skritching his beard. Sören made a purring noise and Anthony teased, "My little kitten," before giving Sören a kiss. Sören went to sleep with a smile on his face.  
  
Sören woke up the next day still smiling, and before he and Anthony had to leave for their respective jobs Sören took Anthony again, the two of them reaching a powerful orgasm like the hours of sleep they'd gotten was too long apart and they were pent up and starving for each other. The endorphin rush made Sören giggly on the way to work.  
  
Sören's good mood was infectious - even colleagues who'd been bitter and grumpy yesterday about being alone on Valentine's Day, couldn't help smiling back at Sören. All felt right with the world, a mood that continued when he performed a scan to show a patient their progress, that they were on the road to recovery.  
  
And then it all came crashing down in the afternoon.  
  
Sören had a pediatric patient, a little girl with a brain tumor who was scared and crying, and her parents were scared and crying. And though the surgery being performed gave her a strong shot at survival, it was still harrowing for everyone involved. Sören really felt for the parents, who were a wreck, and he especially felt bad that they would have to wait in the lobby rather than being allowed in the operating theatre. But he felt worst of all for the sweet child he was about to operate on, and though he tried to use his warm, gentle, and somewhat playful bedside manner to get her to calm down and smile a little, he knew she was still upset when she went under, and he, too, was upset - collected and concentrating on the procedure, as he had to be - but upset nonetheless.  
  
The two types of patients that came in that were always hardest for him emotionally were the trauma cases, usually someone in an accident who needed emergency spinal surgery or something else, and the pediatrics. Sören had been asked more than once if he intended to further specialize in pediatric neurosurgery since children seemed to universally like him and he had a way of soothing them, but Sören's answer to that was always no. He would take the occasional pediatric patient that came in to National that had to be worked on by the general neurosurgeons while the pediatric specialists had their hands full, or they were available but needed help on an operating team. But having more than 75% of his cases be pediatrics felt like a recipe for Sören to have a nervous breakdown, not that he ever replied in those exact words, but he was always a mess after dealing with children even when the procedure went well, even when he and their families knew the child had a reasonable prognosis. He didn't like seeing children suffer. It was that, even more than his own experiences, which made him an agnostic - if there was a God, he thought that being must be downright evil for inflicting that kind of pain on something so small and helpless.  
  
The look of fear in the little girl's eyes stayed with him when he took the Tube home. After he'd washed up and changed into his pajamas he tried to distract himself by drawing on his new WaCom tablet, but he was too distraught.  
  
He ended up doing something he had not done in a long time. He went into his closet, into the suitcase that had come with him from Iceland to England. In the suitcase, he had tucked a pillowcase. It had come out a few times after his move from Iceland, when he lived in the flat in Bromley, but he hadn't touched it since moving in with Anthony. Now, though, he needed to. It was not the pillowcase itself, but what was inside it. He dragged it to bed and curled up with it in the fetal position - not falling asleep, but just holding it. Crying, silently and not-so-silently.  
  
That was how Anthony found him when he got in.  
  
"Sören?" Anthony paused in the doorframe of the bedroom.  
  
Sören opened his eyes and looked up at Anthony, who was giving him a concerned look. Sören tried to manage a smile, but Anthony knew, of course, that something was wrong. Still in his suit and tie, Anthony sat on the edge of the bed and began petting Sören. "Sweetheart, what is it? What happened?"  
  
Sören let out a deep sigh. It took him a moment to find his words. "I had to perform surgery on an eight-year-old girl with a brain tumor today. I fucking hate, _hate_ seeing kids with serious health issues like that, scared and in pain..." And Sören broke down, weeping. "I hate it so much. So much."  
  
Anthony swallowed hard. He reached out and pulled Sören into his arms, seeming to not care that Sören was messily crying on the shoulder of his Brooks Brothers suit. He pet Sören's curls, rubbed his back. "Oh, love. You've got such a sensitive heart, and it's one of the things I love the most about you."  
  
Sören snuffled. "I used to get all kinds of shit about it growing up. In school, and..." His voice trailed off, not wanting to say _and at home, from my aunt and uncle._  
  
That was rather why he had what he had in the pillowcase. Anthony patted it. "What's this? It feels like there's something in it."  
  
Sören sighed again.  
  
Anthony cupped Sören's chin in his hand and made Sören meet his eyes. "You can tell me, you know."  
  
Sören handed the pillowcase to Anthony. He didn't want to deal with opening it up and taking the contents out himself.  
  
Anthony opened up the pillowcase, reached inside, and then he pulled out the head of a cornflower blue cloth rabbit, with a kind face and big, floppy ears. Stuffing was coming out of the head. Anthony exhaled sharply. He reached inside again and pulled out the arms, a chest and stomach attached to a leg, another leg. The parts were assembled on the bed, and Anthony frowned.  
  
There was a long moment of silence before Sören could explain it. His voice shook as he did. "My mamma made it for me before she died. His name is Bláberja, which means, ah, Blueberry in Icelandic. I wanted him to be blue, that's my favorite color." Tears spilled down Sören's cheeks again. "It's the only thing I have from her."  
  
"What happened to him?" Anthony's voice was quiet but firm, insistent, not willing to let this go.  
  
"My uncle Einar happened to him." Sören pinched the bridge of his nose, bracing himself for the flood of memories and emotions. "Einar thought I was too old for something like that, and that boys shouldn't have stuffed animals besides, that I was 'soft'. Einar was always picking on me about not being a 'real man'. And, well, I didn't get rid of my bunny. I _couldn't_. I hid him, and I took him out when I needed comfort. I needed quite a bit of that, between getting mocked and sometimes beat up in school, and then coming home and my aunt and uncle were drinking and got violent and mean when they were drunk." Sören realized this was the first time he'd really gotten in-depth with Anthony about what his childhood had been like, though Anthony knew from their first meeting Sören's guardians had been alcoholics.  
  
Then Anthony said, "I'd got that from... the scars on your back. The ink covers it but it's still noticeable."  
  
"You never miss a thing, do you?" Sören knew he shouldn't have been surprised, but he was surprised anyway. He went on. "One night Einar was drinking and he started fucking with me, as usual. I thought he passed out drunk and that it was safe to get my bunny, and then he came back for more, saw me with him again, and..." Sören took a few deep breaths but he started shaking, seeing it in his mind's eye.  
  
"_Jesus._" Anthony winced.  
  
Then he caught Sören in a fierce, tight hug. "Sören. I'm so sorry."  
  
"So am I." Sören broke down again, sobbing. "I didn't have the heart to get rid of the scraps. I don't know how to sew... I still don't, actually. I can perform fucking surgery, but I don't know how to sew, like, cloth. So I've had the pieces all this time, in that pillowcase. I can't hold my bunny as-is anymore when I get sad, but I can hold the pillowcase and it's almost like..." He couldn't finish the sentence.  
  
Anthony rocked him. Sören was making a mess on his suit again. Anthony patted him and said, "I'm going to get up and get changed, it won't be long."  
  
Anthony changed into pajamas in front of him and then he got back on the bed, this time laying on the bed instead of sitting on the edge. He drew Sören against him, cradling Sören against his chest, legs twining, and he started rocking Sören again, petting, as Sören cried and cried. "Shhhhh. It's OK."  
  
"You..." Sören didn't sense any judgment in Anthony about this, but after what he'd been through with Einar, and all of the macho posturing he'd seen in school and even occasionally at work with fellow doctors, Sören never knew how people would react to a grown man needing a stuffed toy. "You don't think any less of me for this, do you?"  
  
"Hardly. For starters, it's incredibly sweet and adorable that you kept him all this time." Anthony kissed Sören's brow, stroked his cheek, and gave him a sad smile. Sören saw the tears in Anthony's own eyes, crying silently in solidarity with him. Knowing Anthony didn't cry much, and was now crying for him, made Sören lose it again, and this time Anthony didn't try to keep his own tears silent and contained, trembling against Sören, giving a shuddery little gasp. A few minutes later, when Anthony had pulled himself together again, he said, "And I would be a hypocrite if I judged you."  
  
"Hm?" Sören raised an eyebrow.  
  
Anthony patted Sören, detangled from him, and swung off the bed. Sören watched as Anthony went to the closet. "Are you getting George?" Sören asked, not able to resist the moment of levity.  
  
Anthony snorted, gave Sören the finger, and opened the closet. He got on his knees, to where he kept his shoes, and opened a shoebox that Sören had presumed had shoes in it. With his hands behind his back, Anthony came over to the bed and then he pulled out what he was hiding behind him - a worn-looking stuffed lion that was nonetheless in good condition.  
  
"This is Finn," Anthony said. "I've had him since I was four, which makes him twenty-eight now."  
  
"Wow."  
  
"Once in a great while, when I have had an especially crap week at the Inn, Finn comes out to sleep with me." Anthony pushed Finn into Sören's arms. "I can't sew, Sören, or I'd repair your bunny in a heartbeat. The only person I know who can sew is my gran, and she hasn't done it in years, she has arthritis, and she's usually off galavanting in Europe with Donovan. And I'm not trying to replace your bunny. But if you need a soft friend to comfort you right now, you can borrow Finn."  
  
Sören was indescribably touched - not just at the thoughtfulness of the gesture but that Anthony, himself, had secretly kept a stuffed toy all this time that he occasionally brought out for comfort. Sören started to cry again. Sören was a bit exasperated with himself for crying so much, especially now that it was exhausting him, but he couldn't help it. He held Finn and watched as Anthony gingerly put the pieces of the bunny back in the pillowcase. "Do you want this out for awhile, or shall I put him back where you got him from?" Anthony asked.  
  
"Out for awhile, if you don't mind."  
  
Anthony leaned in to kiss Sören's brow. "I don't mind at all." Then he tousled Sören's curls and rubbed his shoulder. "I'll give you some time, I'll be back in a little while."  
  
Sören heard the sound of Anthony puttering around in the kitchen, and assumed Anthony was making tea. And then, just as Sören was about to doze off for a bit with Finn in his arms, Anthony came back in the bedroom and said, "Sören? I made you grilled cheese."  
  
Anthony knew that grilled cheese was Sören's favorite food, not exciting or fancy but it was still his favorite nonetheless, something comforting. And that Anthony had made him his favorite - right down to the exact, precise type of grilled cheese, Swiss on rye, with a side of tomato soup - touched him again, making Sören cry a little as he came out and saw the food waiting for him.  
  
"It was the least I could do." Anthony pulled Sören onto his shoulder and tousled his curls again, kissed the top of his forehead. "I can't cook worth a damn, but I can make that, and you said you like it..."  
  
Sören threw his arms around him and gave him a kiss.  
  
After they ate - and then had tea, the cure for all ills - Anthony curled up with a Tolstoy book and cuddled Sören, who held Finn some more as he zoned out to the BBC. Sören was emotionally drained enough to be exhausted, and eventually Anthony got up to do dishes, turned off the TV and the living room light, and picked up Sören from the couch - Sören holding onto Finn - and carried him down the hall to the bedroom. He tucked Sören in and got beside him, and just continued holding Sören as they fell asleep.  
  
Sören ended up dreaming about the girl he operated on, who then morphed into himself at eight years old, and Einar calling him a "sissy girl". And Einar knocked over the tray-cart of surgical tools and snarled, "You want something to cry about? I'll give you something to cry about" and began to beat Sören as he had beaten him many times before, finally ripping Sören apart as he had ripped apart the bunny. "I'll show you surgery, you pathetic cunt!"  
  
Sören woke up screaming, gasping for breath. Anthony was next to him and he threw his arms around Sören, holding him tight, rocking him. Sören started to cry, as much with anger for himself for still hurting years later, not able to get over it, frustrated that Einar still owned space in his head.  
  
"Goddammit," Sören sobbed.  
  
"Bad dream?"  
  
Sören nodded and buried his face in Anthony's shoulder, letting out a wail.  
  
"Oh, sweetheart." Anthony pet Sören's curls and kissed the top of Sören's head. He cupped Sören's chin in his hand and kissed Sören's tears, and in the glow of the nightlight Sören could see Anthony was starting to cry too, once again moved to tears for him. "It was Einar, wasn't it?" Anthony's own voice broke a little, and he looked furious through his tears.  
  
Sören nodded. "I hate that son of a bitch. I wish he was fucking _dead_, and I don't say that sort of thing about people, as a rule. But I want him dead."  
  
"Listen, if you killed him, I'd fight for you tooth and nail. People who abuse children are the worst sort of filth. I've had a few clients who fought back against their parents, or against partners who were abusing their children - I represented a woman pro bono who killed a man for... well, never mind, you get the picture. But as a lawyer I must advise you nonetheless to not murder him." Anthony then muttered, "I'll be advising myself of this as well, to not hop on a flight to Iceland..."  
  
Sören cried harder. He wasn't used to someone being angry on his behalf, let alone someone crying for him. "I wouldn't be able to do it, anyway. He's right. I'm weak."  
  
"Sören. Listen to me. You may not be able to kill him - a lot of people can't bring themselves to cross that line. Much as I have to remind myself of this when it often feels the opposite in my line of work, most people aren't killers. The human race would be extinct now otherwise. But it doesn't make you _weak_. You're not weak at all. You are far, far stronger than you know."  
  
"No, I'm not." Sören sobbed. "I'm really not, Anthony. Look at me. I'm twenty-seven fucking years old, crying because I had a nightmare about my uncle beating me up."  
  
"Yes, Sören, _it will still hurt._ One of the reasons why abuse is so heinous is because it never _stops_ once the act is done. The victim gets to live with that memory for the rest of their life. It sounds like on the whole, you have more bad memories than good. It makes total sense to me that it would still affect you. But that still doesn't make you weak. Not in the slightest."  
  
Sören didn't know what else to say. He kept crying, and Anthony held him and rocked him and pet him. "Shhhh," Anthony soothed. "You're here now. You're safe with me. I've got you. I won't let him hurt you. I won't let _anyone_ hurt you."  
  
"I'm sorry," Sören rasped. "I'm sorry I'm like this. I know you need your sleep..."  
  
"Sören, for once stop fucking _worrying_ about everyone other than yourself. I shall manage. And again, you need to stop being so hard on yourself. If our situation was reversed, would you be telling me that I'm weak for crying, I'm not a 'real man', I should shut up?"  
  
"Well, no." Sören snuffled. "I wouldn't say that to anyone -"  
  
"So why the bloody hell is it acceptable to tell yourself that?"  
  
Sören sighed. Anthony kissed his brow.  
  
After a few more moments of silence - after Sören's tears began to subside, all cried out, at least the noisy part of it - Anthony spoke, his voice husky with emotion. "Sören, when we first met back in November, I was impressed with you right away. I knew, when you mentioned your guardians were alcoholics, that you'd likely been abused, and that was rather confirmed to me when I saw your back for the first time. And the fact is, so many of my clients come from horrific backgrounds like your own. Many times, they go down the wrong path because they don't know anything else. You would have been remarkable to me as you are, without having any kind of tragic past. Becoming a doctor is _hard_, I daresay it is at least as hard as becoming a lawyer and probably much, much harder. It takes a tremendous amount of strength to survive medical school and go on to work the kinds of hours you do, see the kinds of things you do, and have so much heart to help people, to want to save lives and make a difference. It is that much more remarkable to me that you chose this path after what you've gone through. That in the face of the cruelty shown to you, you chose not to return cruelty to the world, but to show the warmth and compassion that you yourself needed growing up. There is a light inside you that has endured through tremendous darkness. Despite everything, you still shine. You still _burn_. That is the opposite of weakness to me. When I wrote that first love note to you, with the flowers, I didn't just choose 'Walks In Beauty' by Byron because you're physically attractive, I meant - and still mean - that you're _a beautiful person_. With a beautiful heart. A beautiful spirit." Anthony gave him a soft, sweet, lingering kiss. "You are my spirit of fire, and I feel honored that you chose me to bask in that warm glow."  
  
Sören broke down again. Just when he thought he was done with the ugly crying, he cried even harder, uglier - this time touched by Anthony's words, eloquent yet earnest.  
  
Anthony rocked Sören some more. "I love you."  
  
"That was beautiful," Sören cried.  
  
Anthony kissed his tears.  
  
Sören grasped at levity; his eyes and face hurt from crying. "You are such a goddamn lawyer."  
  
Anthony chuckled, and he swatted Sören's ass.  
  
Sören kept going. "You know what would have made that speech even better? If you were wearing George."  
  
Anthony's laughter rang out, and he swatted Sören's ass again, harder. "Piss off." He gave Sören a kiss. "Besides, getting the wig would mean having to get up, and I don't particularly want to stop holding you right now."  
  
"All right, well..." Sören reached for Finn in the glow of the nightlight and put him on Anthony's head. "I guess this will have to do. Tell me again about how I'm beautiful..."  
  
"You're a beautiful _little shit_."  
  
"_Takk._"  
  
They laughed, and cried, and laughed some more, and then Sören lost it when he noticed Finn was still sitting on Anthony's head. "You should wear that the next time you have court..."  
  
"Dear _god._"  
  
"Let George have some time off, let Finn see the world a bit..."  
  
"You are the most ridiculous thing in existence." Anthony kissed him.  
  
"I try."  
  
"And I love to hear you laugh." Anthony stroked Sören's face. "Your... brand of... insanity... helps keep me sane. I need it."  
  
"I know."  
  
Anthony pulled Sören closer and husked, "I need you."  
  
Sören kissed him. "I know. I need you too."  
  
Anthony kissed him back, harder, and then Sören giggled, "You still have a cat on your head."  
  
"_I swear to god._"  
  
A few moments later, Anthony took Finn off his head, put him in Sören's arms, and got up to bring Sören some ice water - once again, like he'd read Sören's mind that Sören was a bit thirsty - and after Sören drank it, then he settled behind Sören, his chest against Sören's back, arms around him, spooning him. "I've got your back," Anthony whispered, and kissed Sören's cheek.  
  
Sören lay there and tried to get to sleep, but the feel of Anthony against him, and the lingering emotions from those words, and the need to be in a better place for awhile kept him awake, feeling vaguely aroused, and then not so vaguely, when Anthony snuggled closer and his hands slid down Sören's body.  
  
"Anthony?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Make love to me? Just like this."  
  
Anthony quickly readied them both and slipped inside, and held Sören tight as he thrust slowly, achingly slowly, sweetly. Anthony cupped Sören's face and tilted it so they could kiss, and nuzzle, and make eye contact in the glow of the nightlight. Anthony kissed Sören's neck and shoulder. And at last, he kissed over the scars on the upper portion of Sören's back, closest to the shoulderblades, as he thrust harder, faster.  
  
"My spirit of fire," he husked between kisses. "They couldn't quench you. Your heart still burns. There is so much love in you, so much passion in you, and I love you, need you, want you."  
  
Tears burned Sören's eyes again, and Anthony kissed the tears that flowed, then claimed Sören's mouth fiercely, deeply, as he moved in for the kill, arms tight around Sören's waist, stroking Sören's cock in time with thrusts that felt like Anthony's own inner fire revealed, consuming him, two fires burning as one. Sören shattered, sobbing, and a moment later Anthony was done, crying out as he came, and he rocked Sören as they shook together, their release as much emotional as it was physical.  
  
Anthony had to be at work before Sören did - he would be picking Sören up at National in the evening - and when Sören woke with the alarm, he saw Finn on the bedtable, holding a handwritten note.  
  
_My struggle is harsh and I come back  
with eyes tired  
at times from having seen  
the unchanging earth,  
but when your laughter enters  
it rises to the sky seeking me  
and it opens for me all  
the doors of life.  
-Neruda_  
  
Sören cried a little, folded up the note and gave it a kiss before he tucked it into the hollow book where he kept the others.  
  
  
_  
  
  
When Sören was on break, and having a cup of coffee with Colin, his cell phone went off.  
  
_Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus  
Amadeus, Amadeus, Amadeus  
Amadeus, Amadeus - oh, oh, oh - Amadeus  
Come and rock me Amadeus!_  
  
Colin's eyebrows went up as Sören answered. "_Elskan_," he said.  
  
"Hi, love. How is everything?"  
  
"All right, I guess."  
  
"No kids today?"  
  
"No, mostly old people today, and one twentysomething going on sixty." Sören laughed. "How's the Inn?"  
  
"It's one of those days when I question my sanity for going into this line of work."  
  
"Awwwwwwww, poor _elskan._ Anything I can do for you later?"  
  
"The usual is nice, of course."  
  
"Mmmmmm."  
  
"Mmmmmm."  
  
Colin made vomit noises.  
  
"Oh, your assistant's brother says hi," Sören said. He held up the phone at Colin.  
  
"I charge if you want me to talk to you like that, mate," Colin said.  
  
Sören howled when he took the phone back. "I can't believe him."  
  
"Ask him how much," Anthony teased.  
  
Sören snorted, giggling. "Anthony Hewlett-_Johnson_, you're terrible."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"I'm not gay, by the way," Colin announced.  
  
Sören couldn't resist. "Hi Not Gay..."  
  
"Oh, _bloody hell,_" Colin said, facepalming.  
  
"Sören," Anthony said, "I will be a little late picking you up. Like fifteen to twenty minutes. I hope that won't be too much of a problem?"  
  
"No," Sören said. "I can sit in the lobby or something."  
  
"All right. I apologize. I have to take care of something before I come get you."  
  
"OK. I'll see you when you get here."  
  
"I love you."  
  
"I love you too." The call ended.  
  
Colin made more vomit noises. "You guys are disgusting."  
  
"_Takk._" Sören grinned.  
  
Then Colin also grinned. "It's nice to see you happy. And Diana says he's the easiest to get along with that he's been the entire time she's worked for him."  
  
"Oh, does she think he's difficult?"  
  
"I don't know if I'd call it that, she's used the words 'type A personality' to describe him."  
  
Sören nodded. "I can see that. He never really leaves lawyer mode."  
  
"I'm afraid to ask what's up with that ringtone for him."  
  
"The wig."  
  
"Oh god." Colin laughed. "Of course, the damned wig." He shook his head. "My brother, Martin, he works for Family Law. I got to see him in the wig once. It was... pretty hilarious."  
  
"So is everyone in your family in law but you?"  
  
"Diana and Martin both are, my other sister Cynthia is an obstetrician. My dad came here from Barbados and he told us horror stories about the manual labor his parents endured and he pushed us _hard_ to go into a profession so we don't end up like that. We're still killing ourselves with round-the-clock work, we're just not doing it on a plantation." Colin rolled his eyes and sipped his coffee. "What about you? You never talk about your family."  
  
"My brother's an astrophysicist."  
  
"Oh..." Then Colin's eyes widened with recognition. "He goes on Neil Degrasse Tyson's show sometimes!"  
  
"Yes, that's him."  
  
"Holy _shit_. I didn't assume he was your brother just because of the name Sigurðsson, I know that's a... ah, whatchu call it, not a surname -"  
  
"Patronymic."  
  
"I dated an Icelandic girl for five minutes back in college, that's how I learned that," Colin said.  
  
"Oh, really?"  
  
"Mhm." Colin grinned. "You all are _freaks._"  
  
Sören snickered into his coffee. "My boyfriend seems to think so."  
  
"Oh _god_, forget I said that." Then Colin doubled over. "Don't tell your man I said this, but my sister thinks you guys are hot. She's into that... what the hell is that called... yaoi or whatever it is."  
  
Sören almost spat his coffee. "Does she read slash, too?"  
  
"I don't know what that is."  
  
"It's like fanfiction, but with gay sex."  
  
"Oh. Sounds like you read plenty of it. Probably write it too."  
  
"I don't know about writing it, but I might have helped with a few stories. Asked the important questions like 'when do they fuck?' and 'when is the orgy?'"  
  
"Jesus, Sören." Colin laughed, rolling his eyes. "You're worse than I am." He shook his head. "You're probably worse than everyone."  
  
"Just about, but Anthony's a pretty good match."  
  
"I guess so." More seriously, Colin said, "I hope he keeps you happy for a long time."  
  
Sören nodded. "So do I."  
  
When Sören's shift ended he waited in the lobby with a magazine, only half-paying attention to what he was reading. He started dozing off in the chair, and then he heard a dramatic clearing of the throat, blinked his eyes open, and saw Anthony standing near the doors. Sören got right up and ran over to him, hugging him hard; Anthony chuckled and hugged Sören back, rocking him.  
  
They got in the car and Anthony had the stereo on. Billie Holiday was playing softly, which Sören found comforting. Sören rested in the warmth of the car and the comforting presence of his lover, and when they got out of the car, Anthony popped the trunk and took out a small shopping bag. Anthony said nothing and kept his expression neutral as he ushered Sören inside.  
  
Once they got in and took off their footwear and outerwear, Sören gestured to the bag. "What's this?"  
  
Anthony handed it to him and walked off to the kitchen to make tea.  
  
Sören reached in the bag and he pulled out a blue striped tiger, roughly the same size as Finn. He squeaked when he pulled the tiger out of the bag, and hugged it, then he came over to Anthony making tea and hugged him.  
  
"I know it's not your bunny," Anthony said, his voice betraying the emotions that were starting to surge again, his eyes a little too bright. "But I had... to do something, and that's why I was late to pick you up, I looked online on my break and placed an order to pick up later. I..."  
  
Sören silenced him with a kiss. Then he growled, "Forget the damn tea for a bit," and hauled Anthony off to the bedroom, to make love to him as rough and savage as a hunting tiger, Anthony responding with the ferocity of a lion.  
  
After they lay there in the afterglow awhile, spent and breathless, Anthony got up to put on pajamas and resume making tea. Sören put on pajamas and came out for tea and to throw something quick and easy together for dinner. He also brought Finn out with him, to meet the tiger, and as dinner cooked and they sat having tea, Sören had Finn and the tiger on the coffee table.  
  
"Hi," Sören said, moving the tiger's head like a ventriloquist's dummy.  
  
Anthony raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I said _hello_." Sören made the tiger give the lion a tap.  
  
Anthony shook his head at Sören, grinning, and then he moved the lion's head. "Hello."  
  
"You're pretty," Sören said on behalf of the tiger.  
  
"You are too," Anthony made the lion say. "I'm Finn."  
  
"I'm..." Sören thought for a moment and then he couldn't resist trolling. "I'm Tony."  
  
"You're a little shit," Anthony told Sören, who gigglesnorted, and then Anthony made Finn stick out his paw. "It's nice to meet you... Tony."  
  
"I could name him Cornelius if you prefer." Sören snickered. "Or Corn."  
  
"Sören, I am going to take you over my knee."  
  
"Promises, promises." Then Sören resumed playing with Tony the tiger, making him say to Finn, "Will you be my boyfriend?"  
  
"You move fast, don't you?" Anthony made Finn cock his head to one side.  
  
"Is that a yes or a no?"  
  
Anthony made Finn hug and snog Tony, which made Sören laugh, and then they kissed as well.  
  
"Well, that was completely ridiculous," Anthony said, leaning back against the couch.  
  
"It could be worse."  
  
"I'm sure."  
  
"Hi Sure -"  
  
Anthony glared, and Sören elbowed him, laughing. Then he scooped up Finn and Tony from the coffee table and held them together and rocked them. "This was really sweet of you."  
  
"I worried you wouldn't like it. I thought about getting you another bunny but I had a feeling that might be..." Anthony's voice trailed off.  
  
"I love him," Sören said, patting Tony's head.  
  
"Good. I thought a tiger was appropriate because, you know, I have a lion, plus..." Anthony stroked Sören's face. "What I said last night about strength. You're a lot stronger than you know, a lot more powerful than you know, there's a tremendous amount of courage in you, a tremendous amount of _fight_."  
  
"I feel an 80s song coming on." Sören got up, turned on the stereo, put on his 1970s and 1980s playlist, and found the right song.  
  
"Oh... oh no," Anthony said. "No..."  
  
_Rising up, back on the street  
Did my time, took my chances  
Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet  
Just a man and his will to survive  
  
So many times it happens too fast  
You trade your passion for glory  
Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past  
You must fight just to keep them alive_  
  
Sören began to sing along with the chorus, belting it out.  
  
_It's the eye of the tiger  
It's the thrill of the fight  
Rising up to the challenge of our rival  
And the last known survivor  
Stalks his prey in the night  
And he's watching us all with the eye of the tiger_  
  
"Dear god, Sören." Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose, but he was shaking, laughing. "Dammit..."  
  
When the song was over, Sören checked on dinner then sat back down next to Anthony and cuddled the lion and tiger some more. And then he started laughing again.  
  
"What?" Anthony asked.  
  
"Well, we've got a lion and a tiger..." Sören smirked. "We should get a nice bear to play with."  
  
"Our flat will be overrun with stuffed toys in short order, won't it?"  
  
"Better that than wigs."


	14. The Ides of March

On Tuesday, March thirteenth, Sören worked overnight into Wednesday afternoon. Anthony had been fairly stressed out before Sören went to work on Tuesday night, so Sören didn't ask him about plans for the following evening then, not wanting him to have to think and plan even more. But in the late morning on Wednesday, just before Sören's final patient of the day, and when Sören knew Anthony would be going to lunch soon and getting a chance to answer, Sören texted him with _Do you know what we're doing later?_  
  
Anthony didn't reply right away, and Sören waited, and time wore on. Sören took the Tube home, getting a little worried. And once he got back to the flat, his eyes were heavy and he knew he needed a nap. He ended up passing out on the couch, and was eventually woken up by his cell phone playing "Rock Me Amadeus".  
  
"Hey," Sören mumbled, his voice groggy.  
  
"Hi, sorry I didn't text you back immediately. It's been... a day."  
  
"Oh, _elskan_. It's OK, I took a nap."  
  
"Yes, I can tell." A soft chuckle. "Sören, are you going to hate me if I want a quiet evening at home tonight? I'm in a burn-everything-to-the-ground mood and I don't want to be out in public when I'm like this."  
  
"That's totally fine! I wasn't hell bent on going out or anything, I just didn't know if you wanted to since I haven't had many full evenings free lately."  
  
"Normally I would be in favor of taking you somewhere. Tonight, though..." Anthony made a little noise. "Also, I may be a little late, like by a half-hour to forty-five minutes. I have some paperwork to take care of and I don't want to bring it home with me." A pause. "Don't want to shit where I eat."  
  
That definitely sounded like the day had been awful. "OK, _elskan_. Don't worry about getting anything on the way home, I'll take care of it all."  
  
"Thank you. I'm so sorry -"  
  
"It's all right. Life happens. I'll see you when you get here."  
  
"I love you."  
  
"I love you too."  
  
Sören gave a soft sigh when the call ended. He knew Anthony had been stressed out last night about court today, but Sören didn't know it was going to be this bad, and he ached for Anthony, wanting to do something to make him feel better.  
  
They'd gotten takeaway last night, as they tended to do when life was hectic. Sören knew Anthony appreciated his cooking, and Sören felt like a nice home-cooked meal was a way to help take care of him. So as worn out as Sören was from the last few gruelling days, he headed out, taking a walk to a smaller grocery store that had less of a selection than the one they usually shopped at, but he could shop and get back home before Anthony arrived. He picked up steaks and fresh greens; there were potatoes at home.  
  
On the way back it started to rain, and Sören found himself wishing Anthony was there to take a walk with him in the rain, which would have been kind of romantic. It did, however, put Sören in the mood to make the evening romantic in tone, hoping that would help put Anthony in a better place for awhile.  
  
When Sören got in he got right to work, marinading the steaks. Sören watched the clock, wanting to have dinner ready when Anthony walked in the door, and timed the rest of the preparatory work, chopping the red potatoes and coating them with olive oil and seasoning, putting the steaks on the broiler and potatoes in the oven, and then, later, started wilting the greens.  
  
Everything was coming out just as Sören heard Anthony's Audi pull up. He lit candles in the living room and added candles to the bathroom and bedroom, to be lit later. As Anthony walked in Sören was loading a plate for him, and he paused and gave Sören a look that melted his heart.  
  
Sören also saw how utterly _exhausted_ Anthony looked. Right after Sören put out the food, he came over and just held Anthony for a moment - who was taking off his shoes - and Anthony leaned against him with a deep sigh.  
  
"I love you, you know," Anthony said.  
  
"I know." Sören kissed the tip of his nose. He began pulling Anthony towards the couch.  
  
"Er, let me get out of my robe first." Anthony frowned. "I feel like fucking burning it right now."  
  
"Oh my god, that bad?"  
  
Anthony made a noise before he stalked off.  
  
When he came back, in pajamas, he gave Sören a kiss as he sat down, where Sören had food waiting for the both of them. "Sören. You must be _exhausted_. I would have been happy to do takeaway -"  
  
"I wanted to do something nice," Sören said, cutting him off.  
  
"Well, that's very, _very_ nice." Anthony gave a sad little smile. "It's such a relief to come home to you on a day like today."  
  
"How bad was it? Do you need a drink?"  
  
Anthony nodded. "My usual."  
  
Sören got up, poured him a shot of Hennessy and brought it over. Then he started eating, while Anthony took a moment, swirling the cognac around in his glass, collecting his thoughts.  
  
Finally Anthony spoke. "I hate some of the cases I have to defend. When I'm charged to defend the indefensible. I keep reminding myself I do this so the innocent, the unjustly accused, can get a fair trial. So I can ask for mercy for those who are led down the wrong path because they had far less privilege and far more problems than myself. I keep reminding myself that I went into this line of work because somebody has to. But on days like this..." Anthony's nostrils flared before he sipped his cognac. "I hate being a lawyer. I hate _people_, when I see the worst of humanity. I hate _myself_ for defending them, I feel like the worst sort of filth..."  
  
"Ohhhhh, _elskan._" Sören's eyes misted. He put his food down on the coffee table so he could take Anthony into his arms for a moment, gently rocking him. "You're not filth. It's like you said - you went into this line of work for the right reason. You have a strong conscience. You told me when we first met, you would defend ninety-nine who were guilty, to make sure the one who wasn't, went free. You're right that somebody has to do this job. You're doing the right thing."  
  
"Right now I hate it."  
  
Sören pulled Anthony's head into his chest and his arms tightened around him as he pet Anthony's hair. "You have a good heart, _elskan_. And I love you."  
  
"_You_ have a good heart." When they pulled apart, Anthony stroked Sören's face and planted a tender little kiss on Sören's brow. "You remind me there are still good people in the world. And you're one of the best."  
  
Sören smiled and stole a kiss. Then he gestured to Anthony's plate. "Eat, dammit."  
  
"Right, sorry."  
  
After a few minutes of eating, Anthony rubbed Sören's knee and said, "You're such a good cook. I still can't believe you went to that trouble after your long shift..."  
  
Sören gave him a little kiss. "You're worth the trouble. It was, you know, what I could do to try to help you feel better."  
  
"I appreciate it very much."  
  
"Besides." Sören glared. "You didn't sleep last night when I was at work, did you?"  
  
Anthony shook his head. "I tried. Sleep wasn't happening."  
  
"Then you definitely need the fuel. Jesus _Christ_, Anthony."  
  
"This happens periodically, has been a part of what's 'normal' for me over the years I've been practicing law. Difficult cases that bring on sleepless nights, then the battle in court, then the adrenaline crash. And this was a particularly nasty case. I was never so glad to lose in court in my life."  
  
"Can you talk about it? Do you need to talk about it?"  
  
Anthony looked Sören in the eye. "I defended a rapist in court today, Sören. A minor celebrity, has been known to do charity work, who nonetheless is a reprehensible human being. I felt sick the entire time, but it's my job, I didn't get a say." He looked down. "Forgive me."  
  
Sören couldn't finish his meal.  
  
Sören didn't want to go cold to him - he knew that it was in fact Anthony's job, it wasn't a choice, Anthony would have to practice another form of law entirely to avoid cases like this. And he realized that when he and Anthony first met, and Anthony gave him the speech about defending ninety-nine monsters so one innocent wrongfully accused would go free, this was part of the ninety-nine. He knew this going into the relationship - he didn't like thinking about it, but it wasn't like he wasn't aware. And Sören wondered how many people he himself had operated on, given a second chance at life to, who had done something terrible and didn't deserve that chance. He knew it was a non-zero percentage of the patients he'd had.  
  
And yet, Sören had to sit with the knowledge that Anthony had defended a man charged with performing at least one act of the very same thing that had changed Sören's life forever, had sent him fleeing his home country and likely never to return. He knew that the courts were very hard on victims, and he wondered how hard Anthony had been cross-examining the accused's victim. How much of a defense he'd put up, and he imagined Anthony couldn't have just thrown the battle, if nothing else his chambers would have frowned on that.  
  
Sören's plan of a relaxing bubble bath and then a massage went out the window. Anthony sensed the tension when he'd finished eating and they were both not-watching the news. Anthony finally got up and said softly, "I'm doing the dishes and then I'm going to try to get some sleep."  
  
Sören felt a pang of guilt, but he also needed time to sit with these unexpected difficult feelings. And after Anthony had been in bed for awhile and Sören sat in the living room, alone, trying to draw on his WaCom tablet to distract himself - much as Sören, too, needed some sleep, he wasn't there yet - Sören realized they'd come to a crossroads point in their relationship.  
  
From tonight on, he was either going to have to accept that Anthony really did mean what he said when he spoke of defending ninety-nine guilty for the sake of one innocent, and that someone had to do it, dirty as it was - people had the right to a fair trial, that was how justice worked in this country, and Sören did in fact know that in countries where it didn't, prisons were filled with innocent people who didn't belong there - and Sören was going to have to try to not take it personally despite his own history with child abuse and rape, or he was going to have to bow out of the relationship before it went much further, not just for the sake of his own mental health but also because he could see in Anthony's eyes and entire demeanor that he felt bad enough about doing what he had to do, and didn't need to come home to someone who froze on him for doing that.  
  
Sören's stomach did flip-flops as he weighed it back and forth. Yes, he hated it that Anthony defended a rapist today. And it didn't seem fair to ask Anthony "don't talk to me about your job" if he needed to vent, and even if he _didn't_ talk about it, Sören would always know from this point forward at least some of the cases he took on were like this, and possibly even worse.  
  
But was it worth ending things over? He knew Anthony felt terrible about this case, much more so than came out in his words. And though they'd only been together since the end of November, and it was now mid-March - not a lot of time - it felt like longer. It felt like they'd known each other for far longer. Things escalated quickly between them because it felt right. And before Anthony told him of this case, it had still been right. If he walked away because of this, he'd miss Anthony desperately, like having a limb cut off, and he knew it would hurt Anthony too. And Sören knew that part of why he'd fallen in love with him as deeply as he did was those strong convictions, that commitment to justice and doing the right thing even when it meant taking the fall, being the bad guy in the eyes of many, because the alternative was worse. Anthony did what he had to do, because somebody had to do it. To keep doing it, even when it was distasteful, took a tremendous amount of fortitude. Sören had loved that sense of purpose in him, that _calling_, just like medicine was a calling to him. They were on two different career paths, but they sparked from the same place. Every client of Anthony's was potentially someone like Anthony's uncle, every patient of Sören's was potentially someone like his mother. Their lives had both been touched at a young age by tragedy and they rose up to say, _Not again, on my watch. Not today._ Sören gave the chance of life, and Anthony gave the chance of freedom, to the deserving as well as the undeserving.  
  
Sören remembered once when he was a tiny child visiting Reykjavik for the first time, all of four years old. During their trip, his mamma had given money to a derelict, no questions asked, and then little Margrét, when she was Magnús, who was seven, had asked, "Why? What if they use that money to buy drink?" And Sören's mamma had said, "My grandfather always told me rain falls on the field of the good farmer and the bad, and that is why we have food on our table."  
  
Sören had been named for his mother's grandfather, and now he took those words to heart. He found himself sketching his mother for the first time, as Lady Justice - blindfolded, bearing a sword in one hand and scales in the other. It had hurt too much to draw her before now. It still hurt, but everything hurt, and somehow, drawing this now was lancing a wound, cleansing it.  
  
Sören was tired enough that he didn't finish the sketch that evening, starting to nod off as he was drawing. He ended up putting the tablet on the coffee table and drawing the throw blanket on the back of the couch around himself, stretching out. _I'll just power nap for five minutes, then I'll be fine to get up and get ready for bed._  
  
And of course, as soon as he let himself take that "power nap", he was gone. He slept on the couch that night, fully clothed. He heard Anthony in the living room in the morning, and he opened his eyes with a little gasp, and said, "Oh."  
  
Anthony - who was in his suit and tie, heading out to work - gave him a stricken, hurt look, and walked out the door without saying anything.  
  
"Fuck," Sören muttered a minute after the door closed. He facepalmed, feeling terrible. He was of a mind to run out after Anthony and shout, "HEY I LOVE YOU," but the car was already starting, and it was pouring rain outside.  
  
  
_  
  
Sören was in a bad mood all morning. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this crap, and though he tried to keep it from showing, he nonetheless got a few concerned looks from Colin and Pamela and Ed, like they knew something was bothering him.  
  
Sören felt frazzled, not just from the obviously unresolved tension in his relationship - made all the more unpleasant because this was so sudden, they had been so happy together - but also he hadn't slept all that well on the couch. It had been deep enough to keep him there instead of his body waking him up to get him crawling off to bed, but it hadn't felt restful at all. It was Sören's turn to pick the music in the operating theatre today, and instead of going for his usual classic rock or prog metal, he went with more downtempo music, something to try to take the edge off.  
  
During a chiari malformation surgery on a young woman, Sören thought again of his mother, who had died at the same age. Not that the woman on his operating table had a life-threatening condition - though chiari malformatons could be debilitating, and in her case she had headaches, dizziness, tinnitus, muscle weakness, balance problems, and vomiting, which was a definite quality of life issue. This surgery was still a second shot at life, one without the symptoms that had been draining the life from her. He had no idea what she was like as a person in her day-to-day life, only that here, now, her life was literally in his hands as he cut open her head.  
  
_Love, love is a verb  
Love is a doing word  
Fearless on my breath  
Gentle impulsion  
Shakes me, makes me lighter  
Fearless on my breath  
  
Teardrop on the fire  
Fearless on my breath_  
  
Sören thought of the woman's boyfriend, who was sitting in the waiting room; the haunted look in his eyes as she'd waved goodbye to him right after Sören had given them both a matter-of-fact rundown of the procedure. He remembered the look in Anthony's eyes last night when Anthony told him about his hell in court, and the pain in his eyes this morning that Sören had slept on the couch, assuming it was avoiding him. _I have to call Anthony as soon as I'm done with this._  
  
And then, an inexplicable frisson down his spine, gooseflesh breaking out over his arms and neck. For a moment he felt like he'd been thrown into a vacuum and all the air was sucked out of him, his heart starting to race for no reason.  
  
_Water is my eye  
Most faithful mirror  
Fearless on my breath  
Teardrop on the fire  
Of a confession  
Fearless on my breath  
Most faithful mirror  
Fearless on my breath_  
  
"Anthony," Sören heard himself say out loud, heart pounding harder, breath coming out in ragged little gasps. _Something happened. Oh my god, something happened..._

_Teardrop on the fire_  
_Fearless on my breath_  
  
Colin looked across the operating table at him. "Sören, you OK, man? You need someone to relieve you?"

_You're stumbling a little_  
_You're stumbling a little _  
  
Sören thought about it, but then he shook his head. He closed his eyes and pushed out the thought of Anthony, used the meditation of glass closing between himself and the world, to quickly pull himself back to where he needed to be, here and now in the surgery. "I got this." _Whatever it is, it can wait until we're done._  
  
And so it was. The minute surgery was over and Sören scrubbed out, he grabbed his cell phone. The panic he didn't allow himself in the operating theatre slammed into him and he shook like a leaf, hyperventilating as he dialed Anthony's cell. There was no answer. Sören looked at the clock. This was a time when there was a reasonable chance Anthony would have a moment free to answer his phone, and if nothing else, Anthony would see Sören called and call him back at his first available opportunity.  
  
Moments passed, and no call or text came. Sören didn't want to be a pain, but his panic was too strong, and he called again. There was still no answer.  
  
Sören went on break, opting to hang around in the employee break room today instead of the cafe at the hospital, even though the coffee in the cafe was better. As he sat down with a yogurt, Colin said, "Mate, what happened to you in there? You choked."  
  
"I'm OK," Sören said, not wanting to get into it.  
  
Colin's eyes challenged him. "No, you're not."  
  
The BBC was playing on the TV in the break room and Sören never usually paid attention, but a scrolling headline caught his eye: BOMB THREAT AT LINCOLN'S INN.  
  
"Oh my fucking god." Sören dropped his spoon and got up from the table.  
  
He made a beeline for the TV. Colin, Pamela, and Ed stood around him as he watched footage of the police bringing a bomb squad to Garden Court Chambers, with the newscaster saying a bomb had been intercepted, the suspects being members of a radical feminist militant group, claiming it was in retribution for representing a reality TV star charged with rape yesterday...  
  
"Oh god." Sören felt ready to keel over. Ed's hand steadied one shoulder, Pamela's the other. "Oh god. _Oh god..._"  
  
It was bad enough that this happened, which would have been awful on its own. It was that much more unsettling to Sören that he'd _felt_ something was very, very wrong.  
  
"It didn't go off," Pamela said, assuring but firm. "The police got there just in time."  
  
They were leading him back to the table to sit down. Colin brought him an ice-cold ginger ale, knowing Sören liked them. Pamela opened it for him and held it to his lips.  
  
"Sören, go home," Ed said. He was the man in charge this shift.  
  
"I..." Sören looked at the clock. "I've still got a few hours -"  
  
"If you were starting to get sick with flu I'd send you home so you don't get anyone else sick and cause an epidemic. You're too stressed out. It can't be helped, just like it can't be helped if you get flu. We'll manage. Go home, see your partner, and we'll see you as usual tomorrow, unless you need to take a day. All right?"  
  
"I feel awful about it," Sören said.  
  
"Shit happens," Ed said. "You've covered for others before, let us cover for you this time. Go."  
  
Sören continued to try Anthony's cell on the Tube ride home. He considered going directly to Temple and seeing if Anthony was still there, but he had a feeling that might be a bad idea if the police were still hanging around or they had additional security.  
  
He got home, hoping Anthony had beaten him there, but the flat was empty. Sören showered and changed into pajamas, hoping that Anthony would finally call him back when he was in the shower. But when he checked his cell, still nothing.  
  
Sören sent a text. _I'm home now. They sent me home when it was on the news._  
  
And a second text. _I love you. Please be OK._  
  
Sören had his eyes glued to the BBC news as he waited, though they were covering other topics now. And then, a little over an hour after he sent his texts, his phone finally went off with a text notification sound. Sören snatched up the phone right away.  
  
_lol hi im drunk_  
  
Sören couldn't blame him, and mostly he was just relieved Anthony was OK, at least physically. Sören sent a text back. _Hi Drunk, I'm Sören_  
  
A minute later Anthony texted back a poop emoji next to a heart.  
  
Sören thought about calling and yelling at him not to drive, but he also knew Anthony wasn't stupid and would probably find the admonishment patronizing. And twenty agonizing minutes later, Sören heard Anthony's keys in the door.  
  
Anthony stood there for a long moment, with Sören sitting on the couch, the two of them just looking at each other.  
  
"I took a taxi home and the car's being towed," Anthony said, his voice slightly slurred, as if he knew Sören had worried about him driving in his condition.  
  
Sören wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn't make words. His jaw trembled and a little sob bubbled out of him. Anthony staggered over to where Sören was sitting, and he got down on his knees and rested his head in Sören's lap. Sören pet him, crying, and at last he picked Anthony's head up, pulled him up and cradled his head to his chest, rocked him.  
  
"I'm so glad you're all right," Sören whispered. "I was so scared. I..."  
  
Anthony kissed him. Sören could taste the alcohol on him. Then Anthony rested his head on Sören's shoulder.  
  
"You don't hate me," Anthony said, bluntly.  
  
"No." Sören took a deep breath. "I... I struggled, last night. But I wasn't on the couch avoiding you. I drew to try to... cope with everything, and ended up falling asleep out here." Sören stroked Anthony's face, looked into his wounded eyes. "I love you. That's what matters."  
  
Anthony nodded. "I'll go into another branch of law, like commmercial, if you really can't deal with this."  
  
"That isn't your calling," Sören said. "You have to do this, even when it's shitty. You can't walk away from it anymore than I can walk away from medicine. I understand."  
  
"I don't even understand myself sometimes." Anthony gave a rueful laugh. "This isn't even the first time my life was threatened, you know. It most likely won't be the last."  
  
And then Sören blurted out, "I felt it. I was operating and I knew something was wrong, and then on break... the news..."  
  
Anthony's eyes misted. He opened his mouth, closed it, and now it was his turn to pull Sören close and hold him tight.  
  
When they pulled apart, Sören helped him onto the couch and Sören got up to make tea. But before the tea was ready, Anthony was half-asleep from the effects of how much alcohol he had. Sören gently shook him. "OK, you, bed."  
  
Sören turned off the kettle, then walked Anthony to the bedroom, helped him get in pajamas, and tucked him in. After visiting the bathroom he got in bed beside Anthony and just held him. Anthony fell asleep and Sören stayed awake for awhile, watching him.  
  
And even more than the conclusions he'd come to last night, it was what happened today that made his decision for him, to stay. To accept what was, and try not to dwell on it. Because the thought of losing Anthony was unbearable to him. He'd likened it to losing a limb, but when he'd _felt_ the danger, the brush with death, as his hands gave a patient a second lease on life, Sören's heart had cried out the truth - it was more like having a piece of his soul ripped out.  
  
They weren't married - yet, that discussion hadn't even come up and Sören wasn't going to press it now if at all. But the words came to him, from the English vows. _For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health._  
  
_For better or worse.  
  
...for better or worse, to have and to hold._  
  
  
_  
  
  
Even though he was hungover, Anthony still elected to go to work on Friday the sixteenth, and Garden Court Chambers would indeed be open as usual, with some added security, but open nonetheless.  
  
"I'm surprised," Sören said as he watched Anthony get changed.  
  
"_Do right, fear no-one_," Anthony quoted the motto, squaring his shoulders. He turned around and looked Sören in the eye. "I have to show the world I really mean that."  
  
Sören made himself go to work as well, even though Ed had told him he could take the day off if he needed to, Sören not only didn't feel right about others pulling harder to carry his weight, but he didn't want to get into the habit of avoidance, which he knew from experience years prior was a slippery slope for him. If he called out today, he'd start calling out more often, making excuses for himself, and that would eventually tank everything he'd worked so hard for. And he had ambitions of eventually making consultant, as young as he was, and he wasn't going to get there unless he pushed himself.  
  
Colin, Pamela and Ed seemed to recognize that Sören wasn't really fully recovered but was OK enough to operate and that had to be good enough, and attempted to keep his spirits up with lame jokes, and some tasteless ones, as gallows humor was common with them.  
  
"I heard that bomb threat was a ruse so you two could run off and shag," Pamela teased.  
  
Sören snorted, but couldn't resist a grin. "If only."  
  
Anthony picked Sören up in the evening. They stopped to pick up Thai takeaway and ate at home in their pajamas, and then Anthony asked if Sören wanted to play a game to help them further destress. Playing Sonic the Hedgehog together after the kind of week they'd had felt surreal, but that was exactly why it was needed. It was made further surreal when Sören remembered what they had in the freezer and they ate orange sherbet with vanilla ice cream out of the carton, eventually feeding each other spoonfuls. When Anthony watched Sören suck on a spoon the old familiar look of lust was in his eye again, which Sören found comforting and reassuring tonight as well as arousing, and when that game finished they went to bed, and took turns giving each other a sweet, loving blowjob before tangling up together to go to sleep.  
  
On Saturday morning Anthony was up before he was - not an unusual occurrence, Anthony tended to keep the same hours every day - and Sören found him sitting at his desk, but towards the window, watching the rain on the river.  
  
"There was a moment," Anthony said quietly, "when I thought to myself, _I wonder if they're right, and if I am scum and deserve to die for this._"  
  
"Oh my god, Anthony." Sören's heart broke.  
  
"And then." Anthony turned around, sitting properly at his desk - albeit in his pajamas - and he folded his hands on his desk. "I had to remind myself, I've probably done more for women than that group ever has. Like the woman I defended pro bono for killing her partner for beating and molesting her children. Like other women I've defended who fought back against their abusive partners, maiming and killing them. Like women who've sold their bodies to feed their children, because there was no better option. Like young women who were trafficked and still charged like they had done something wrong instead of a great wrong being done to them. Like young women who grew up in council housing and turned to drugs and gang violence because they had no other options. I could go on and on, but you get the point."  
  
"You've done a lot of good." Sören nodded.  
  
"Apparently, not enough for some."  
  
Sören walked over, took Anthony's chin in his hand, and made Anthony meet his eyes. "Enough for me."  
  
Anthony took Sören's hand and kissed it, and then he said, his voice husky with emotion, "I love you."  
  
"I love you."  
  
Anthony frowned. "And unfortunately, I have paperwork to catch up on that I didn't get a chance to do on Thursday."  
  
"All right."  
  
Sören worked on his WaCom tablet as Anthony worked on paperwork and his laptop. Sören kept stealing glances at him, rumpled and sexy in his pajamas and wire-rimmed glasses, and fought the urge to go over and take him on his desk. Morning wore into early afternoon and Anthony finally got up, yawned and stretched, and said, "I'm going to take a nap."  
  
"Hi Going To Take A Nap."  
  
Anthony threw an armchair pillow at Sören, who tossed it back at him, hitting him in the ass on his way out, both of them laughing. Sören thought about joining Anthony in bed, since he was a little tired himself, but then he decided he wanted to do something nice for Anthony, a surprise while he was sleeping, a sort of morale booster. The question was what...  
  
Sören recalled that Anthony really enjoyed the birthday cake that Sören made for him last month, having gotten the tip from Elaine that his favorite was lemon. It wasn't Anthony's birthday, but it was the kind of dismal, dreary weekend where having the oven on and something sweet and comforting was appealing.  
  
Sören got up, threw on clothes, and headed out to the small grocery store. He bought a lemon cake mix, frosting, and eggs, feeling a little guilty that he was using a mix instead of making it from scratch, but it was still cake. When he got back to the flat he set to work right away, preheating the oven, mixing the cake, readying a bundt pan.  
  
Sören wondered if the smell of cake would wake Anthony up, but he was still sleeping soundly just before the cake came out of the oven. After the cake cooled, Sören frosted it, and then he cut two generous pieces and brought them into the bedroom. But before he could get on the bed and wake Anthony up, the sight of him holding Finn the lion went right to Sören's heart - something precious and innocent at the core of him, that needed to be protected.  
  
Sören found himself making a blanket fort, and letting himself in with the cake. He gently shook Anthony awake, and rained kisses over his face. "Hey, sleepyhead."  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Guess what I have."  
  
Without opening his eyes yet, Anthony grinned and mumbled, "A boner?"  
  
Sören snorted and said, "Look, arse."  
  
Anthony opened his eyes and then he let out a little gasp and gave an adorable smile, surprised, at the sight of the cake. "Oh my god, Sören." Then he looked around at the blanket fort, sheltering them. "Wow. You..."  
  
Sören broke off a bit of cake with his fingers and shoved it in Anthony's mouth, and Anthony attempted to talk through a mouthful of cake, making Sören laugh.  
  
"You're so sweet," Anthony said, and fed Sören a piece of cake.  
  
They took turns feeding each other bites of cake and then Anthony's cell phone went off, which was on the bedtable outside of the blanket fort. "Swear to fucking _god_," Anthony growled, lifting up a blanket to retrieve the phone. Then his eyes widened and he swiped to accept. "Mum! Hi!" And then, "Yes, yes I know I haven't called. I was going to call you this evening. I needed a few days..." Elaine's voice, frantic staccato. "I'd assumed you'd watched the news and saw nobody had gotten hurt. We had to evacuate and..." Anthony huffed and rolled his eyes as Elaine continued lecturing him. "Mum, I'm fine. I just needed... to shut down for a bit." More of Elaine's chatter. "Sören's fine, Mum. He takes good care of me. He made me cake, which I was eating just now before you called." Sören heard Elaine's "_is that what you're calling it now_" and Anthony turned beetroot, sputtered and said, "No, Mum, actual cake. The kind you make from a box."  
  
Sören lost it, howling. "HI, ELAINE," he yelled loud enough for Elaine to hear him.  
  
"_Is that Sören? Put him on,_" Sören heard Elaine say.  
  
Anthony handed Sören the phone, shaking his head, and Elaine said, "Sören, love, how have you been holding up?"  
  
"God. It's been stressful but I think we're gonna be OK," Sören said. "I assume you've been stressed out too, I can't believe he didn't call you."  
  
"See, SOMEBODY UNDERSTANDS MY PAIN, CORNELIUS ANTHONY," Elaine said loud enough for Anthony to hear. Then Elaine went on, "Sören, please do me a favor and come for dinner tomorrow night if you're free and drag that stubborn boy along with you, hm? His father wants some help planting in the garden, besides."  
  
"We're going to dinner at your mum's tomorrow night," Sören said, as he fed Anthony another bit of cake, who nodded.  
  
"All right," Sören said. "I'll see you then. And hopefully there won't be a next time, but in the event anything happens I'll get on him to actually call you back in a timely manner."  
  
"Such a dear boy. Thank you, Sören. Please put me back on the phone with him?"  
  
Sören handed Anthony the phone, and Elaine lectured him for an additional moment with Anthony saying "Yes, Mum," and then another "Yes, Mum," and then another "Yes, Mum," which made Sören giggle and Anthony glare daggers. And finally Anthony said, "Yes, Mum, I love you too, see you tomorrow."  
  
When he got off the phone Anthony yelled, "GOD."  
  
"I'd be worried too," Sören said. "I _was_ worried."  
  
"I know." Anthony gave Sören a sad look and reached up to stroke his face. "I..." He took a deep breath. "It still gets me here," he said, holding his stomach, "that you... you felt it."  
  
Sören thought then about telling Anthony about the strange dreams he'd been having - where they were themselves but somehow looked like other people, and they actually were brothers, in an incestuous relationship, sons of a king. But that seemed too weird, so he didn't. He shoved more cake in Anthony's mouth.  
  
Then when Anthony fed him a bit of cake, Sören got frosting on his nose. Anthony laughed at him for a few seconds with the dollop of frosting hanging off the tip of his nose, and then he leaned in and playfully licked it off. That led to them kissing, and then more sensuously feeding each other, licking and sucking each other's fingers.  
  
"Whew," Sören said, "it sure is warm in this blanket fort." He took his shirt off and then he arranged cake on his chest, deliberately getting frosting on his nipples. Anthony growled as he licked it off, and Sören moaned and sighed - his cock was already getting hard, and it twinged even more now as his nipples were teased.  
  
Anthony one-upped Sören, taking off not just his pajama top but also his bottoms, getting back on the bed naked, and arranged all of the rest of the cake on his chest, stomach, and thighs. Sören ate it off him, licking his skin clean, and when the cake was gone Sören nibbled on his thigh and asked, "Where did the cake go?" before nibbling some more.  
  
"I don't know." Anthony examined the empty plate, and then he frowned. "Pity, I wanted more frosting."  
  
Sören giggled. He licked the plate clean, Anthony watching his tongue with heat in his eyes, and then they kissed, tongues teasing, tasting. "Hold that thought," Sören husked, and climbed out of the blanket fort. He went to the kitchen, covered his erect cock in frosting, and came back with the jar of frosting just in case they had any further use for it. When Sören let himself back in the blanket fort Anthony laughed appreciatively at Sören's frosting-covered cock, and then he stopped laughing to dive down and lick it off, slowly and deliberately.  
  
"Mmmmm," Sören said. He bit his lower lip and groaned, his cock throbbing from the slow play of Anthony's tongue. "Does my little brother like that?"  
  
Anthony's breath hitched. "Oh god." He gave a moan as he licked again. "Yes, I do." He took a few more licks and said, "My big brother takes good care of me."  
  
"I love my brother." Sören groaned again, feeling like he could almost come just from Anthony's tongue and the naughtiness of the game they were playing. "And I love my brother's tongue."  
  
Anthony licked Sören's cock clean, and now Sören was leaking precum. Anthony chased it with his tongue, and at last took the head of Sören's cock into his mouth, sucking it, swirling his tongue as he sucked. Sören bucked and cried out, clutching Anthony's head. "Fuck..."  
  
Anthony swallowed more of Sören's cock down, sucking hungrily, stroking himself as Sören moaned and cried out, panting, already on edge. And then he teasingly let Sören's cock slip from his mouth, gave it a few more licks, and husked, "I want to taste you now."  
  
"Go for it," Sören breathed.  
  
Anthony took Sören back in his mouth and it didn't take long for Anthony to bring him to climax, Sören giving a hoarse shout as he let go, shivering, cock throbbing and pulsing with release. Anthony swallowed and came up to kiss Sören. He was rock hard, rubbing against Sören's thigh, and feeling his erection got Sören going again right away, guiding Anthony's hand down to his stirring cock to tease it back to life.  
  
"Tell me what you want," Sören whispered.  
  
"You." Their eyes met. "Make me safe again."  
  
Sören threw his arms around him and kissed him hard, and rolled Anthony onto his back. He kissed Anthony again and again, and then kissed and licked him all over, his hands sliding, fingers walking over every inch of him, as if every kiss, every lash of his tongue, every brush of his fingers, was weaving a sort of protective magic. "Once I have claimed something," Sören rasped, kissing down from Anthony's left hip to the scar over his thigh, "it is always mine. And _nobody, nothing,_ will take you away from me." He kissed the scar, not knowing what it was from, only knowing he'd survived something, and the little shuddery sigh let him know he was right.  
  
Sören teased him, then, licking his cock, sucking slowly, keeping orgasm just out of reach. He licked around the rim of the opening and pushed his tongue inside, tongue-fucking in a slow yet insistent rhythm, readying Anthony for more. When Anthony started to produce broken cries, gasping for breath, Sören stopped licking inside him and resumed licking Anthony's cock, getting the lube and working slick fingers inside, one then two then three. At last Sören rose and poured lube over his cock and the ready, waiting channel, and pushed inside, slowly. He took Anthony's hands when he was all the way inside, and after a few slow thrusts he pulled Anthony up a little, into his arms, rocking into him harder, faster. Anthony's arms held Sören tight, so tight, hips working back at him.  
  
"I love you," Sören growled, and kissed him hard. Then he held nothing back, driving into him fast and furious, as if he were driving away the forces of darkness itself with the fire of his being.  
  
Anthony returned kiss for kiss, nails raking Sören's back hard enough to draw blood. "Sören." He moaned. "Sören. I love you. I need you. My brother. Mine."  
  
"Yes, _elskan_. You've got me." Sören stroked his face and kissed him harder. "I've got you."  
  
They kissed as deeply and hungrily as they could, Sören slamming into him with wild, frenzied abandon. A few minutes later Anthony let out a tortured sob as his climax overtook him, and at the feeling of his stomach and chest being splashed as Anthony's silken heat pulsed around him, Sören came, giving a fierce cry of his own.  
  
The cataclysm left them both breathless, wide-eyed, and then they kissed once more, breathing each other's breath, palms and fingertips touching. "I love you," Anthony called out.  
  
"I love you too."  
  
Now it was Sören's turn to doze off, and when he woke up, he found Finn and Tony curled up next to him, holding each other. He heard the shower, and he came down. He got in the shower with Anthony, and they just held each other under the spray for awhile, leaning on each other, just _being_ together, letting the week wash away, holding each other up. It was one of those moments that didn't need words, when it said everything that needed to be said between them.


	15. Wicked Games

Sören had to work Sunday early morning into afternoon, and in the early evening Anthony picked him up at National and drove him directly to his parents' in Blackheath for dinner. Elaine didn't seem to mind that Sören was in his scrubs or too exhausted to talk much - most of the conversation was focused on Anthony and the bomb threat at Lincoln's Inn, and some of the more hair-raising situations Anthony had been in prior to that, such as being stalked by a former client, which was part of why he had the flat in Kingston now, having previously lived in Blackheath a few streets away from his parents.  
  
It rained, which meant no work in the garden, and it was later than Elaine had anticipated them coming besides. Before Sören and Anthony left, Elaine asked Sören about his schedule next week, and upon finding out that Sören had off the entire weekend of the twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth, she invited them to stay over. Sören looked at Anthony, willing to follow his lead either way, and Anthony said, "Yeah, we could do that."  
  
Sören definitely felt like National was making him earn that weekend off, putting in gruelling fourteen-hour shifts all five of the five weekdays. When Anthony came to pick him up on Friday night he felt like crying with relief.  
  
He did end up crying with relief when Anthony drew him a bubble bath and they cuddled together in the bubbles by candlelight, sipping champagne. He cried again after the bath when Anthony gave him a massage, paying special attention to Sören's scalp and shoulders and feet, which all had built up a horrible amount of tension during the workweek and having it kneaded out felt so good it almost _hurt_.  
  
After Anthony took care of Sören some more, giving him a sweet, languid blowjob, Anthony fed Sören Chinese food in bed. Sören dozed off after, and woke up feeling selfish, wanting to take care of Anthony, too. Anthony didn't think he'd been selfish at all, though he was still happy to have Sören offer to please him, and they finished Friday night making slow, sensual love, taking turns inside each other, frenzied and hungry at the end, biting and scratching each other, shattering together.  
  
Sören giggled at their handiwork in the shower on Saturday morning, and Anthony chuckled at it too. When they were changed, Anthony and Sören took a look out the panoramic window at the riverfront, since they wouldn't be seeing it all weekend, and then Anthony asked, "Do you want to go for a little walk before we take off?"  
  
"That sounds lovely." The sun was actually out today, and it _felt_ like spring was here, though Sören knew the rains would come back later in the week. For now, though, it was blue skies and sunshine.  
  
Then Anthony smirked. "I have a gift for you."  
  
"Oh... oh boy." Sören braced himself.  
  
Anthony produced a flat, square box. "Do you remember when I said I should get you a collar and leash?" He opened it, and a black leather collar and matching leash sat inside.  
  
Sören squeaked, actually delighted that it wasn't just a threat or a tease. Anthony fit the collar around Sören's neck, clipped the leash through, and walked him outside. They spent the next half-hour walking along the river, Anthony seeming to not care if anyone noticed he was walking Sören on a leash. And Sören loved it. It wasn't just a gorgeous walk on a gorgeous day, with the man he loved, sharing this little magical moment with him, but he felt so close to Anthony like this, a tangible symbol of belonging, Sören's trust and Anthony's honor of that trust.  
  
Sören pouted when Anthony took the leash off after they got back to the flat, to begin putting their overnight bags in the car. And he was a little aroused, too, from being on the leash on the walk. Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose and gave him a devious look. "One thing, before we go."  
  
Anthony retrieved the vibrating plug he'd gotten for Sören last month, that they'd played with occasionally since then. After Sören cleaned out, Anthony joined him in the bathroom, lubed Sören up, and pushed the plug into him.  
  
"This is so kinky, I can't even," Sören gasped, laughing when the plug was inside him.  
  
With his index finger through the O-ring in Sören's collar, Anthony tilted Sören's head to his so they could kiss, and his other hand turned on the remote control so the vibe went on at its lowest setting. Sören whimpered into the kiss and Anthony slapped his ass.  
  
As they drove to Blackheath, the vibe purring away inside him at its lowest speed, Sören thought to himself that there was something so wrong about Anthony bringing the leash in his overnight bag, and making him wear the plug to his parents', and yet the wrongness made it incredibly fucking delicious, crossing the line even more with the game they played of roleplaying brothers. Anthony turned off the vibe when they pulled up outside his parents' house, but Sören knew it would be a matter of time before it was on again, and even with it turned off, just feeling the plug inside him, rubbing against his prostate as he walked or moved in any way, was a naughty little thrill.  
  
Elaine and Roger weren't there when they arrived, presumably running errands, but Anthony had a key and let them in. They went right upstairs to put their bags in Anthony's old room. Sören and Anthony noticed there was a vase of fresh lilies and violets in the room, presumably added this morning or late last night. Sören smiled and leaned in to breathe the delicate fragrance, and then his smile became a grin as he watched Anthony take out Finn and Tony and put them on the bed, hugging each other. Then Anthony took Sören's hands and pulled him along to the sitting room on the same floor.  
  
Anthony went into the liquor cabinet and poured Sören a shot of amaretto and himself a shot of Hennessy. They drank and sat together for a few minutes, leaning on each other, just being together, breathing. It was little moments like that which were one of the things Sören loved about their relationship - they both understood the need for quiet space, and to be that resting place for each other.  
  
Leaning on each other turned to cuddling, and at last Sören's gaze kept wandering back to the piano, remembering the way Anthony had played for him at Christmas. Anthony finally opened his eyes and noticed Sören looking at the piano. "Shall I play something for you?"  
  
"Please," Sören said, clapping his hands excitedly like a big kid.  
  
Anthony chuckled and, an arm around Sören's waist, led Sören to sit with him at the piano. He was still so shy about it, cheeks flushed pink, a boyish little smile - he actually bit his lip when he glanced back at Sören, and it made Sören want to drag him over to the couch caveman-style and fuck him senseless. But before Sören could give into that urge, Anthony flexed his hands, did warmup scales, taking some deep breaths to try to get his obvious nervousness under control.  
  
Just before Anthony started playing, he cupped Sören's chin in his hand, tilted Sören's head to face him, and looked into Sören's eyes. Sören never knew green could be so warm. "I missed you a lot this week," Anthony husked, and pulled him into a kiss.  
  
Then he began to play "Moonlight Sonata", which seemed to express all the loneliness and longing he'd felt during Sören's shifts, with having less time than usual. Sören ached, tears coming to his eyes, hearing the melancholy, _feeling_ it, wishing they'd had more time together especially after what the week prior had been like, both of them still quietly reeling from the bomb scare.  
  
When "Moonlight Sonata" was finished, Anthony played an instrumental of "I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues" by Elton John, which was less melancholy but still seemed to follow up perfectly. And though Anthony didn't sing along, and Sören didn't sing - if only because Sören didn't want to disturb the sort of enchantment happening here - Sören nonetheless had heard the song enough times that he remembered the lyrics and knew how appropriate this was to the theme of being missed, longed for.  
  
_Don't wish it away  
Don't look at it like it's forever  
Between you and me I could honestly say  
That things can only get better  
  
And while I'm away  
Dust out the demons inside  
And it won't be long before you and me run  
To the place in our hearts where we hide  
  
And I guess that's why they call it the blues  
Time on my hands could be time spent with you  
Laughing like children, living like lovers  
Rolling like thunder under the covers  
And I guess that's why they call it the blues  
  
Just stare into space  
Picture my face in your hands  
Live for each second without hesitation  
And never forget I'm your man  
  
Wait on me girl  
Cry in the night if it helps  
But more than ever I simply love you  
More than I love life itself  
  
And I guess that's why they call it the blues  
Time on my hands could be time spent with you  
Laughing like children, living like lovers  
Rolling like thunder under the covers  
And I guess that's why they call it the blues_  
  
Sören let out a wistful sigh when the song was over, and just before he and Anthony could kiss, they heard frantic applause in the doorway. Sören and Anthony saw Elaine standing there, clapping, a big grin on her face.  
  
"Bravo," she said.  
  
"_Mother._" Anthony turned beetroot. "How long have you been standing there?"  
  
"Long enough." Elaine winked. "That was magnificent, dear."  
  
"It really was," Sören said, rubbing Anthony's shoulder, and he gave Anthony a peck on the cheek, only slightly disappointed that their kiss had been interrupted, since Anthony's bashfulness was so adorable.  
  
"Come down and have tea," Elaine said.  
  
They did. In the sunny, bright greatroom, Sören finally got a good look at the famed garden from the patio, and after Roger noticed Sören kept looking outside, Roger took the initiative and said, "Come on, son, I'll show you the garden."  
  
Sören's heart skipped a beat. He'd been told Roger actually liked him, but having Roger call him "son" was definitely a sign that he was part of the family now. Anthony sensed the happiness rising in Sören, wrapping his arms around Sören's waist as he followed behind.  
  
Even though it was only just the beginning of March and there wasn't much growing yet, Sören's breath still caught at the promise of it all, the high walls of faded grey brick, the trellises, the rows of soil with their little markers of what would go where, the pots, the shrubberies. It reminded Sören of the children's book _The Secret Garden_ and just like Elaine seemed to be inspired by Victorian and Edwardian aesthetic fo the house, Sören wondered if that inspiration had come into play as well.  
  
They went back inside a few minutes later, after Sören had a chance to take it all in. Roger went on about the different varieties of plants that grew there, and Elaine remarked on how nice it was to have fresh herbs during the summer, to cook with.  
  
"I started taking yoga a couple times a week, a few years ago," Elaine said, "since when you get to be my age you rather need something to help you stay limber. It was actually Mum who got me into taking it, but now her arthritis is much too bad for any of that. Still, though..."  
  
The more Sören heard about Anthony's grandmother the more interesting she sounded, and he was hoping to get a chance to meet her sometime.  
  
"Anyway, one of the things my yoga teacher tells us is that we should try to eat living food as much as we can - fresh from the garden if at all possible. I don't buy into all the talk about prana and whatever it's called, but I do notice a difference in the way I feel when I put fresh things in whatever I'm making. And my yoga teacher is very keen on us having green plants around - the garden started long before I took up yoga, it's been part of the house since it was finished, but I think there is something to be said about having living things all around you." Elaine pursed her lips and looked at Anthony and Sören. "You should get a houseplant."  
  
"With our hours we'd probably kill it, Mum," Anthony said. "As it is, we haven't gotten a cat, even though we're both cat people..."  
  
Sören nodded, pouting. "I'd feel bad, with the cat being alone so much, even if it had a food and water dispenser. It would get lonely."  
  
"Awww, that's rough, I know," Elaine said. She informed Sören, "Anthony grew up with cats. My last one, Alonzo, was a ragdoll. He had to be put down a couple of years ago. I still haven't had the heart to get a new one."  
  
"Alonzo? After one of the Jellicle Cats?"  
  
Elaine's face lit up, pleased Sören recognized the name. "The very same."  
  
Anthony gave a small sigh. "Yeah, Alonzo was a good boy. I'd really like a cat. But." He frowned at Sören, who frowned back.  
  
"A plant, though, is still a bit of life you both can connect with." Elaine seemed rather hung up on this idea. "There are low-maintenance plants that you could probably keep alive. A spider plant, maybe. A cactus..."  
  
"Well, a cactus would be fitting, anyway," Anthony said with a smirk.  
  
Elaine snorted. "A rose with thorns, maybe."  
  
Anthony flushed pink again, but Elaine was smiling. Roger was the one to keep looking back at the garden now, as if being out there for just a few minutes made him hungry for more, and he came to his son's rescue with the teasing. "We should plant these seeds we didn't get around to doing last week," Roger said.  
  
"Yes, I agree." Anthony got up from the couch.  
  
Before Sören could step out to the garden with Anthony and Roger, Elaine reached out, put a hand on his arm and said, "Sören, I'd be honored if those skilled surgeon's hands of yours would assist me with operating on the vegetables for this evening's meal." She smiled, and Sören couldn't help smiling back.  
  
They "scrubbed in", laughing together, and it became clear a couple of minutes into the chopping that Elaine hadn't just taken him in the kitchen to help prep dinner. Elaine kept stealing glances - the very same expression Sören had recognized in her son, when he was observing and particularly when he was looking for his "gotcha"; Sören had a feeling this look came out even more when Anthony was in the courtroom.  
  
Finally Sören raised an eyebrow at her and Elaine said, "Sören, my son loves you."  
  
Sören swallowed hard, feeling that familiar tight ache at his chest, the flutter in his stomach, the glowy rush of warmth. Sören nodded. "Jæja, he's told me as much..."  
  
"No, I don't think you get it." Elaine stopped chopping for a moment. She put down her knife, looked off to the side, and then gave Sören a look that could drill through granite - another look Sören had seen from Anthony countless times now. "My son. _Loves_. You."  
  
Sören slowed down chopping and waited for Elaine to go on.  
  
"I'm sure Anthony has told you himself he's had a few partners over the years, none of whom lasted long. None of whom he lived with, you're the first. In fact, the two times we've gotten to meet men before you, Anthony didn't even let them see his old room, and he certainly hasn't played piano for them. These are all signs that, this is _a big deal_. He has let you into his castle, and you have seen a side of him that he does not, as a rule, show people. There are other tells, of course - the way he looks at you, his body language around you... the sound of his voice when he mentions you to me. Before I met you, before things got this serious, I could tell just by the way he sounded when he brought you up, that he's deeply in love with you."  
  
Sören felt his face flush, not able to contain the smile. "I love him too," Sören said, his voice husky with emotion.  
  
"I know. It's in your eyes. Your eyes don't lie." Elaine returned his smile. Then she gave him a deadly serious look, even somewhat predatory. That too was a look he'd seen from Anthony before. "Be careful with my son, Sören Sigurðsson."  
  
Sören raised an eyebrow. He resumed chopping at his usual pace. Elaine resumed chopping as well.  
  
"Did Anthony tell you about when he broke his femur?" Elaine pursed her lips.  
  
Sören blinked slowly, startled. He'd seen the faded, barely-there scar on Anthony's left thigh, but he hadn't asked about it, yet, and Anthony hadn't volunteered anything about it, as if it was a serious subject for him. "No, he didn't. Wow. That's... that's a pretty serious break. His _femur_..." He looked out the window, where Anthony and Roger were puttering around. "I mean, he walks fine, moves fine." _Fucks like a beast._  
  
"Well, yes, the break healed. He was twelve when the accident happened." Elaine also looked out the window, and back at Sören. "I'm not surprised he hasn't told you yet, it's a very traumatic story for him. Humiliating on top of that, adding insult to injury. I'm going to tell you myself, because it's something I think you need to know, to better understand why I'm being like this. To better understand _him_, as you keep moving forward."  
  
"...All right."  
  
"To back up a bit, Anthony was teased a lot as a child. Bullied."  
  
"I'm sure his name didn't help with that." Sören narrowed his eyes. "Cornelius, _really_?"  
  
Elaine snorted. "I'll forgive you for that," she said, with a wry smile. "It was my great-grandfather's name. I had Anthony when I was almost thirty and I was in my heyday as an up-and-coming architect, so I didn't think twice about giving him a name no one else would have. I had all those ridiculous new-mother-hormones coursing through me, my baby was the most special and wonderful in the world, I designed beautiful buildings and he was the best thing I ever made, he was the son of an _artiste_ and should have an uncommon name, a unique name. Something old-fashioned, something of a bygone era, when there was more... elegance in the world. It all made perfect sense to my addled brain."  
  
"All right, fair." Sören tried not to laugh.  
  
"That said, even if I _hadn't_ named him Cornelius, he would have had... difficulties." Elaine took a deep breath. "When Anthony was a small child, he was... he was different. Shy, quiet. Sensitive. He taught himself to play the piano _by ear._"  
  
"_Wow._" Sören was even more impressed with him now.  
  
Elaine smirked. "He grew up listening to Elton John, I've always loved him, so picture little tiny Anthony plinking out 'I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues'..."  
  
Sören's laughter rang out. He also loved Anthony even more now, that mental image adorable, priceless.  
  
With a small smile, Elaine went on. "He also used to write stories. He had a very vivid imagination. He wrote about these three brothers... elves, they were."  
  
Sören's heart skipped a beat, remembering the dreams he'd been having. His mouth went dry.  
  
"He was bookish, intellectual... between that and wearing glasses and having a stutter, these were all a recipe for his peers to mock him mercilessly. Poor Roger didn't know what to do with him. Anthony was very close to his uncle Nigel, Roger's brother, who was apparently not so dissimilar when he was younger, and Nigel had gone into the service and 'made a man of himself'. Nigel never forgot where he came from, though, and he was, of the extended family, the most accepting of him." Elaine gave Sören a pointed look. "Nigel was also gay. Closeted, as one had to be until comparatively recently. I still don't know to this day if Anthony ever knew -"  
  
"He probably did. Gay people have that gaydar thing happening, most of the time."  
  
"Perhaps. Anyway, kids are absolute vile, godawful _shits_ at a certain age. Anthony got into trouble a few times, even though from his side of the story the bullies are the ones who started it, and I believe him. I have no doubt that the experience of being punished for defending himself while his aggressors got away with tormenting him, contributed to why he'd gone into his branch of law. His uncle had a lot to do with it, of course, but..."  
  
Sören nodded. He ached, understanding that kind of bullying all too well - he'd been through something similar in Iceland.  
  
Elaine went on, looking sad and very tired. "One day I got a call from Anthony's school saying he'd been sent to hospital. I was an absolute wreck. Turns out that the bullying went a little too far, a gang of arseholes chased him - he was outnumbered, a dozen to one - and they were throwing rocks at him, they got in some punches, they broke his glasses, and Anthony couldn't outrun them... so he went up into a tree to get away from them. He _fell out of the tree._ He's lucky he only broke his femur, he's lucky he's still alive."  
  
"_Jesus._" Sören felt a surge of rage, the urge to protect his mate even though that was two decades over. Hot tears came to his eyes.  
  
"Anthony had to take time off school to recover - he had to have surgery, a metal plate in his thigh for awhile - and Roger and I had some serious talks about his future schooling. We decided at that point that we would transfer him to another school for a fresh start, when he was ready to go back, but we weren't going to coddle him, I wasn't going to give into my parental instinct to just take him out of school altogether and get him a private tutor, I didn't think that would do him any favors long-term - people have to be in the world, after all, unless he was going to be a hermit in a remote location that wouldn't do. So, he went back to school. And that was when... the transformation happened. Anthony, while he was home recuperating in the months prior to his return to school, began to work on losing his stutter. You would never know he once had one, listening to him."  
  
"No, I wouldn't." Sören let out a low whistle. "He has a _very_ powerful voice."  
  
"He _trained himself_ to sound like that. It's quite impressive, when I remember what he used to sound like. And he started to behave in noticeably different ways, like he was putting on an act, like he was doing it for the sake of survival. If he wasn't truly feeling confident, deep down, he sure as bloody hell acted like it. He was bolder, much more outgoing than he once was. And as time went on, it looked less like an act and more like he'd changed. But I knew from little tells here and there that the shy, sensitive, bookish boy was still there."  
  
Sören ached for him, wishing he could go back in time and give Anthony a hug, one bullied boy to another.  
  
"Part of his transformation involved, well... trying less hard." Elaine frowned. "He applied himself _just enough_, but not as much as we knew - I knew - that he could. I was rather annoyed with him for it, even as I understood that he was trying to avoid a repeat of standing out too much and becoming a target, as he very much had been when he was top of his class at his old school. But it was a double-edged sword. He went to Cambridge, which is perfectly respectable, but he could have done better than the school he went to, and _he knows this_, and he resents it, on some level. He told me once - actually, after the last breakup he had, when he came over and he was a bit into his cups - that he knows he quite possibly could have gone farther than he did if he'd been willing to push himself harder and make himself a target for more resentment of his peers, and he feels like he was too 'weak' to survive that so he took the easy way out, and he hasn't forgiven himself..."  
  
"Jesus _Christ._" Sören blinked back tears. He wanted to go out to the garden and hug Anthony here and now, but he restrained himself. He was chopping even harder. Angrier.  
  
"And I'm quite sure his orientation had something to do with it. He's likely told you he didn't come out to us until he was in his late twenties, but I knew he was gay by the time he was fourteen." Elaine started chuckling. "He had a crush on that rock singer, what's his name, Gavin Rossdale..."  
  
That explained the Bush poster in Anthony's old bedroom. Sören howled. He leaned against the counter, wheezing.  
  
Elaine put her finger to her lips. "Don't tell him I told you that. But I noticed things. I noticed a lot of things. There were gay men in the architecture circles I traveled, so it was easy enough for me to spot, I just didn't press the issue with him, out of respect for not wanting to embarrass him... or his father, who tries very hard but it's not something he can completely wrap his head around. Growing up in the 1990s, it was still a very difficult time to be openly gay, and it was easy enough to be accused of being gay by one's classmates even if one wasn't gay. So naturally, with that being one more 'weakness' that could be exploited against him, he was going to make himself so..." Elaine searched for the right word. "So much of an _alpha_ that it wouldn't matter, if it came out."  
  
Sören nodded. Then he started laughing again. "Gavin Rossdale..."  
  
Elaine laughed again too. Then she went on, "Even his decision to take some time off school and see Europe, that was calculated. Yes, it was Nigel's wish that he see the world. And Anthony, I'm sure, enjoyed seeing it, no doubt sowed his oats, he was at the right age for it. But I think Anthony also knew if he took time off and came back, he would be the cool slightly-older guy who had more life experience, _had been to Europe having adventures_..." Elaine shook her head. "And of course, as time has gone on... he has to be a certain way in the courtroom. I had concerns when he expressed interest in law that he was going into the wrong profession and of course he doubled down, because my worry that he was too 'soft' meant that was exactly what he had to push himself to do."  
  
She pushed her cut vegetables off to the side and then she gave Sören that drill-through-granite look again. "So that soft, sensitive boy that my son once was... that he still is, deep down... he shows that side to you, when the world doesn't get to see it anymore. I think at least part of the reason why he's drawn to you is because he can be himself with you. You are his safe place, Sören. He hasn't just let you into his home, but you _are_ his home. When I look at my son, with you, I see the same sweet, sensitive boy who was chased into a tree and fell out and broke his femur, whose spirit was broken that day. You give him back a part of himself that he's lost." Elaine folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. "_Don't you dare break his heart._"  
  
Sören laughed - Elaine going into protective "mama bear" mode was cute - but then he sobered, and nodded. "His heart is precious to me. I love him very much."  
  
"I know. And I feel as if, you probably don't need to be told, you have no ill intentions with him. I'm telling you just the same. The last breakup he had was fairly devastating to him and he wasn't anywhere near as in love with the man, invested in him, as he is with you. That man probably didn't get very far behind the mask. I get the distinct sense that he doesn't even have the mask on when he's around you, though doubtless you've seen it by now and know what I mean -"  
  
"I do," Sören said, thinking of Anthony's birthday last month. "And you're right. He's a very different person when he's around his so-called 'peers'."  
  
"And he may act like he has a fun time of it, but I know it's exhausting for him, the way it was exhausting for me to schmooze at functions for my own line of work. He needs what you give him. I can tell you're not like most people, Sören. Don't change that about yourself, even if you're under pressure from his 'friends'. He wants you for you. I reiterate, you are his home. His sanctuary. Don't destroy that."  
  
"I will try my best not to," Sören said.  
  
"Good."  
  
Sören's half of the vegetables were done and Sören was feeling choked up. "Will you excuse me for a minute? I have to run to the bathroom."  
  
"Certainly."  
  
Sören allowed himself to cry for sixty seconds, splashing cold water on his face, trying to ground out by taking deep breaths as he ran cold water over his hands, bent over the sink, his heart screaming for what his mate had gone through, knowing firsthand how awful bullying was, knowing what it must have _felt like_ to be that alone. For all his privilege, and all of his power, Anthony was all too human - _or Elven_, Sören thought with a little smile, thinking of his dreams and Anthony's stories - and he needed to be loved, accepted, needed somewhere to _belong_. Sören loved him fiercely, savagely, blindly, raw passion and feeling and fire. Even moreso now.  
  
When Sören stepped out of the bathroom, Elaine was waiting. Sören had hoped to get a couple minutes alone walking back to the kitchen, where he could continue to dial back the emotions and not give it away that he'd been crying for Anthony. But Elaine knew, and now she drew Sören into her arms, squeezing him tight. "My dear boy," she said, her voice raw. As Sören felt Elaine against him, he felt her heaving a little, as if she was crying too; her head was on his shoulder and he could feel her face damp. She picked her head up and wiped her eyes. "Nobody cries for my son. But you do."  
  
"I am his, and he is mine," Sören said simply.  
  
"Yes, I suppose you're right." Elaine nodded and pulled out a handkerchief for her tears, and Sören's.  
  
Sören smiled at her and this time he initiated the hug.  
  
"Come," she said, taking Sören's hand. "We've still got work to do, the boys are going to the greatroom for a bit when they're done in the garden. We can try to... pretend we weren't having this discussion."  
  
"I'm glad you told me," Sören said.  
  
"I'm glad you listened. And Sören, thank you."  
  
"For?"  
  
"For being you."  
  
When dinner cooked and Sören was given some leave, he went upstairs to Anthony's old room, still shaken by the conversation he had with Elaine. More than anything else, he wanted to make Anthony _happy_. It was one thing to know Anthony's job was extremely stressful and another thing to know he'd gotten into that line of work from strong convictions that kept him on the path even when times got rough. It was yet another thing entirely to know behind all of that was a wound - a need to prove himself. And Anthony wasn't just standing up for the memory of the uncle who had been one of the very few people in his life to show him kindness and understanding, he was standing up for the memory of the hurt boy who fell out of the tree, who had gotten into trouble times before that trying to protect himself before things escalated to that point. Sören grieved for him, raged for him, wanted desperately to make it stop hurting, somehow. Not that he thought it would push Anthony into a safer and less stressful line of work - and he loved Anthony for those uncompromising principles, the fight in him. This was about the heart that Anthony had trusted him with, that he cherished even more now.  
  
Sören knew he was good at making Anthony laugh, and indeed, Sören had brought something along for that very reason, which seemed prescient now. He rummaged around in his overnight bag and produced George, the wig. He brought George over to Finn and Tony cuddling, and now they had George laying across their laps like it was a cat, their paws arranged like they were petting the wig.  
  
Anthony came upstairs to wash up before dinner, and Sören pretended to be dozing off a little. He knew Anthony saw it when Anthony let out a "Jesus Christ."  
  
Sören opened his eyes and the look on Anthony's face was priceless - amused and fond and exasperated all at once. "Goddammit, Sören..."  
  
"He was gonna be lonely with us gone all weekend," Sören said. "Isn't that right, George?" He made the wig nod.  
  
Anthony facepalmed, shaking with silent laughter.  
  
"Besides, we may not be able to have a pet, but Finn and Tony have one now. Don't you want our friends to be happy?" Sören made the lion and tiger nod.  
  
Then Anthony quipped, "You mean _you_ don't have a pet." Anthony's lips quirked. "I've got one."  
  
Sören giggled, face burning. He fiddled with the collar. "Jæja, I guess so."  
  
Anthony came closer, leaning over Sören, hooked a finger through the ring on the collar and rasped, "Such a naughty little kitten, taking things that don't belong to you. I think you need some obedience training later."  
  
Sören felt a frisson down his spine, and his hole twitched around the plug inside him. Then Anthony stood up and gestured. "Let's go downstairs."  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören was half-expecting Anthony to turn on the vibe during dinner, but he supposed Anthony going there right in front of his parents would be pushing it _too_ far. However, the way Anthony kept glancing at him across the table, like Sören was what he wanted to eat, got Sören stirring, already needy for him.  
  
After dinner there was tea, and then Elaine and Roger let Anthony and Sören retreat for the night. They got in pajamas in the bedroom, though before Sören pulled his bottoms up, Anthony held them down just for a moment to look at the plug inside Sören, rub Sören's ass, and give it a little smack. Anthony's lips quirked when he saw Sören was half-hard, and Sören wondered what he had planned.  
  
"My parents are going to be up for a bit," Anthony said, looking at the clock, "so it would be best to..."  
  
Sören nodded; Anthony didn't need to finish that sentence. "You want to play a game?" Then Sören chuckled, knowing how that sounded. "One of your old video games."  
  
But he was also right the first time. As they played Super Mario together, Anthony turned on the vibe, taking perverse amusement in teasing Sören, watching and listening to him react as he gradually turned up the vibe faster, and faster, then back down again, slower and slower. By the time Elaine and Roger called to wish them goodnight, Sören was ready to climb the walls, panting, cock leaking precum enough that it made a wet spot in his pajama bottoms.  
  
"You poor dear," Anthony whispered, leaning in for a kiss.  
  
Anthony made them wait just a little while longer, both to finish the video game and to give his parents enough time to fall asleep. And then he got up, turned on the lava lamps - both of them laughing at the cheesiness of it - and he turned down the bed and wordlessly began undressing. Sören did too, and when Sören was fully nude, hard cock freely standing at attention, Anthony clipped the leash through Sören's collar and his free hand reached for Sören's cock, stroking it slowly. Sören moaned, and moaned again into a deep, passionate kiss.  
  
"I almost feel sorry for teasing you so much," Anthony said. His thumb rubbed the sensitive frenulum of Sören's cock, making Sören gasp and shiver. "Would you like me to take care of this for you, darling?"  
  
Sören nodded with a little whimper.  
  
Anthony got on his knees and took Sören's cock into his mouth, sucking slowly. Sören grabbed Anthony's head, panting, gasping. Then he made breathy moans as Anthony let Sören's cock slipped and bathed it with his tongue, licking and licking and licking. Sören gasped and shuddered when the vibe went off again inside him, and he bit back a cry when Anthony took just the head of Sören's cock in his mouth, kissing it, tongue swirling. Sören shivered when Anthony gave it a few last licks and, with mischief in his eyes, Anthony said, "Key word being 'almost'. I don't feel sorry for you at all, because brats like you deserve a good teasing." With that, Anthony rose to his full height and tugged on the leash, pulling Sören along to the bed. Anthony sat on the edge of the bed and he grabbed Sören and pulled Sören over his knee.  
  
With the plug purring away inside Sören, Anthony proceeded to give him a sound spanking. The leash was wrapped around the hand giving the spanking, and the fingers of Anthony's other hand were inside Sören's mouth to contain his cries. Sören got into it, loving the sweet sting and that feeling of being controlled, that feeling of _depravity_. He especially loved it as Anthony ground out, "My brother is such a brat. Mum and Dad won't put you in line, but I will. _Someone_ has to be the responsible adult."  
  
Sören loved it so much that he rubbed himself as Anthony spanked him, cock grinding against Anthony's thigh. He whimpered around the fingers in his mouth until Anthony took them out and said, "What do you have to say for yourself, brat?"  
  
"Fuck me," Sören panted.  
  
Anthony shoved his fingers back in Sören's mouth and his other hand slapped Sören's ass even harder. Sören gave a desperate whine, wiggling his ass, grinding his cock faster. He was already so close to coming, cock throbbing, the sweet spot inside him throbbing with each pulse of the vibe. Anthony's hand rubbed Sören's ass between slaps, and when his finger traced around the rim of Sören's opening and he gave a "tsk" and said, "My brother is such a shameless little slut," that set Sören over the edge, trying not to howl around the fingers in his mouth as he climaxed, making a mess all over Anthony's left thigh.  
  
Anthony laughed. He turned off the plug, pulled it out of Sören, groaned as he watched Sören's hole contracting with orgasm, and he gave Sören a moment to recover before he tugged on the leash. "Well," he said, looking into Sören's eyes, "are you going to clean up your mess?"  
  
Sören licked his cum from Anthony's left thigh with slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue, making Anthony moan softly, breathing harder. And when Anthony's thigh was licked clean, Sören found himself tenderly, reverently, raining kisses over the scar on his thigh, now that he knew what it was from.  
  
Their eyes met. Anthony stroked Sören's face and pulled him up. "Sören," Anthony said, "I haven't told you how I got that scar."  
  
Sören exhaled sharply. "Your mum did. Today. While you were..."  
  
Anthony nodded, looking away, and then he looked back at Sören. "So now you know about... all of that."  
  
"I do." Sören leaned in and gave him a soft, sweet, lingering kiss. "And I love you, so much." He took Anthony's chin in his hand. "I wish we could have been friends. I mean, I'm younger, but..."  
  
Anthony took Sören's hand and kissed it.  
  
"I was bullied too," Sören said. "Our experiences weren't exactly the same, but..."  
  
"You still get it."  
  
"I do. I get it, and I accept you - who you were, what you became... what you still are." They nuzzled, and Sören husked, "And we've got each other now. We're looking out for each other." Their eyes met. "Brothers."  
  
Anthony kissed him deeply, fiercely, both men groaning into the kiss. Anthony got out the lube and readied his hard, urgent cock. Sören straddled Anthony's hips and impaled himself, and then he began to ride, lost in the passion of the moment, expressing his full acceptance - and his desire - with every rock of his hips and ass. Anthony held onto Sören, held onto the leash, and thrust into him with abandon, like he was fucking the pain away, exorcising the past, all of the loneliness of his younger years and sitting with loneliness again while Sören was gone so much this past week. They _needed_, needed to be one flesh, broken places fitting together, feverish, longing consuming them.  
  
"My brother," Sören panted, grabbing onto Anthony for dear life. "My brother, brother, _brother_, you feel so good inside me..."  
  
"I love you, brother." Their eyes met. "And I need my brother to come with me..."  
  
They took each other's hands and came together, kissing, trying not to cry out, only half-succeeding. It was an intense, powerful, shattering release that brought them both to tears - somehow, playing this game in Anthony's old bed with his parents upstairs made the kink even hotter for both of them, but it was also so intimate tonight, with Sören knowing what he knew now. The orgasm felt like consuming fire, Sören holding onto Anthony tight feeling like they were both burning up, a glorious explosion into the stars.  
  
They rested for awhile, Sören snuggled into Anthony's chest, held in his arms, listening to his heartbeat. They kissed and pet fondly, and soon enough tender, gentle kisses gave way to deeper ones, the fire rising in them again. This time Anthony wanted Sören inside him. Sören readied Anthony with his tongue, paying back some of the teasing, licking inside him slowly. Then he sucked Anthony's cock, slowly, as slick fingers worked in and out of him. When Anthony pulled on the leash with an insistent growl, Sören stopped, laughing, and lubed up his cock.  
  
Sören took him gently, and for at least a few minutes Anthony let him go slowly, the slow sensuality of Sören's thrusts and Anthony's counterthrusts a dance of love, connection, the two of them melting together. They kissed and kissed, holding each other, and time seemed to stop, the two of them lost in each other, in a moment of paradise found, where none of the ghosts of their past or frets of the present could intrude.  
  
And then it was pure hunger and need again, Sören taking him with savage, punishing thrusts and Anthony giving it right back, rocking his hips and fucking himself on Sören's cock, grabbing onto Sören and working Sören's hips himself. Sören tried not to scream, and ended up having to bite Anthony's shoulder. Anthony bit back. And now, the biting back and forth, Anthony scratching Sören's back, Sören raking his chest... that, too, was deliciously kinky under his parents' roof, the two of them unleashing something primal, like they were indeed made to fuck each other and nothing would get in their way.  
  
Anthony came first, biting Sören again when he let go, growling into the bite. Sören came a few seconds later, shuddering gasps as he spent and spent, Anthony's teeth on him making him come even harder than before.  
  
Sören thought for sure they were done after that as they lay there shaking, legs entwined, laughing and crying together, but then they were kissing again and Sören felt himself harden once more. He found himself getting on his hands and knees, face down ass up, spreading to show his well-used, wanton hole, begging, "Please, more..."  
  
Anthony knelt behind him and took Sören just like that, pulling on the leash with one hand, Sören's curls with the other. "You are such a spoilt brat, wanting to get fucked all the time," Anthony ground out as he plowed into him.  
  
"And you want to fuck just as much as I do. Your body doesn't lie." Sören smiled to himself as he felt Anthony's cock throbbing inside him, as if it were responding to those words.  
  
Anthony slapped Sören's ass and grabbed his curls again. "My brother is such a slut."  
  
"So are you." Sören wiggled his ass teasingly. "It's like we're related."  
  
"You had better keep your voice down." Anthony slapped Sören's ass again.  
  
But then the slap of their flesh got louder, and they were both panting, gasping. Anthony tried to slow down, and Sören begged, "No, don't stop, please, more, brother, more, more, I need more, please, more..."  
  
Anthony gave a deep groan and fucked Sören even harder, as Sören whispered, "More, brother, more... more, brother, _more_, more, don't stop..."  
  
Those words were like Anthony's kryptonite. Sören could feel Anthony trembling against him, and Sören was right on that edge himself. But the lewd, debauched, shameless sex was almost as good as the orgasm would be, and Sören needed it to last just a little longer, to keep feeling that delicious rubbing inside him, to keep surrendering, to keep _burning_...  
  
"More, more, _more_, more, oh god, brother, more, I need my brother's cock, need my brother to fuck me and fuck me and fuck me..." Sören was completely out of control and loving every second of it.  
  
"Oh god, Sören." Anthony leaned down and his arms wrapped around Sören, holding him tight. He kissed and licked Sören's neck, nape, shoulders, and when he began to rain kisses over the scars on the top of Sören's back, closest to the shoulderblades, tears burned Sören's eyes, deeply touched. "My spirit of fire. I love when you're like this. When you burn like this, when you burn for me." And then Anthony's teeth were in the sweet spot where neck and shoulder met, like he was a cat mounting another cat in heat.  
  
_My little lion,_ Sören's soul called out, thinking of the dreams where Anthony had the flood of silver-gold hair.  
  
Sören was so far gone that he didn't last. Sören screamed into the pillows as he climaxed, and then Anthony collapsed onto his back a few seconds later, sobbing into Sören's shoulder as he shook, as Sören felt the pulsing inside him, the flood of white-hot seed. Sören groaned into the pillows and Anthony let out a shuddery sigh, and he wrapped his arms around Sören as best as he could, hugging him tight.  
  
"I love you," Anthony said, his voice hoarse, broken. "I love you, Sören. I love you so much..."  
  
"I love you." Sören tilted his face so they could kiss. "I. Love. You. _I love you._"  
  
For awhile they couldn't move - Sören felt like not only was his entire body made of jelly but his brain was as well, like he'd forgotten how to move his body. He'd come insanely hard, and so had Anthony. And finally they did manage to roll out of position, and tangle up together to sleep.  
  
  
_  
  
  
It has been another long separation, and Anthony looks at Sören like he wants to eat Sören alive the moment he jumps down from the carriage. They try to behave for the sake of the prying eyes around them, but once it appears they are alone in the library they fall on each other, not even bothering to wait until they're in the safety and privacy of the bedchamber.  
  
"I missed you." Fierce, hungry kisses, like fire. "I missed you."  
  
"I missed _you_." Hands sliding over exposed flesh, skin burning, hands burning. "I need you. Need you so much..."  
  
Sören is taken right there on his hands and knees like an animal, Anthony grabbing the knee-length flood of dark hair, pulling it as he slams into his brother with no mercy, as if every thrust is punishing him for a long absence. Sören loves it. He tries to keep the noise down but frantic cries keep escaping him, until Anthony's other hand is in his mouth, and that little act of control just makes Sören even more desperate, rocking against him harder.  
  
Their thirst is slaked enough to be able to sit through the evening meal without incident. Anthony's wife is cool and distant but polite - it is an arranged marriage, and the aloofness is not resentment of them so much as being reminded of her absence from her own lover, their other brother's wife. Sören feels for her - this latest absence from Anthony has been harder on them than usual, it keeps getting harder every time - and after the meal he surprises her with a hug.  
  
"Thank you for being so understanding," Sören whispers. "I hope you see her again soon."  
  
She gives a small smile. "In these times, I fear no one may see anyone, very soon."  
  
Sören does not want to be reminded of that. He needs peace... that is what he came here for, besides his brother. Anthony takes him out to the walled garden, his sanctuary, and he dismisses all the servants, wanting to be alone with Sören. "I have something for you."  
  
It is a pearl-and-diamond choker, and matching leash. Sören recognizes it as his work, a custom order he took and started some time ago and completed recently, the order placed by a messenger who stated they were acting on behalf of someone who wished to stay anonymous - and with Sören making enemies, that was rather understandable. Sören would have never suspected that the ultimate recipient of the piece was himself, that the order had been placed by his own brother.  
  
It is not the sort of thing Sören would wear every day, all the time - indeed, the more delicate colors and design are much more Anthony's style than Sören's. And that is rather the point. The leash reinforces who Sören belongs to, in the time it is being worn. Sören kneels, and graciously accepts as Anthony puts the choker around his neck, then adds the leash.  
  
He is far less delicate and refined than the piece he is holding. He produces a dagger and cuts the tunic and breeches and robe from Sören's body. He takes Sören there in the garden, their cries like the birds Anthony keeps, soaring to the heavens, and soon their hearts and spirits are as well, as they come and come and come, so intense for the hunger of it, for the fire burning in their blood, burning for each other.  
  
"My spirit of fire," Anthony rasps as he shudders against Sören again. "Father tried to shame you with that name, called you demon, but you are glorious. You are fire from heaven, fire from beyond The One himself." This is blasphemy, and they know it, but Anthony's spent cock inside him is blasphemy too. "I love you. It has always been you, and no matter how far, no matter how long, it is you that I wait for."  
  
The ache in his eyes, in his words, sends Sören into frenzied need again. This time Sören shoves Anthony onto his back and rides him - still on the leash, still his... giving him more of that fire he loves, burning hotter, burning bright.  
  
Laying there in the garden shattered, exhausted, the last golden light of day streams over them, just beginning to mingle with silver. Sören doesn't want to get up just yet, basking in the glow. Right now everything is just light, a light he will remember, and take comfort in his memories of light when days grow dark.  
  
_  
  
  
Anthony didn't bother to set the alarm on Sunday morning, and they were woken up by a knock on the bedroom door, Elaine's voice calling out, "Anthony, Sören, are you decent?"  
  
_It's like she knows we have sex in here,_ Sören thought to himself with amusement.  
  
They were shirtless but had the covers drawn up enough that it wasn't completely obvious that they were naked under them. "I guess," Anthony mumbled, still half-asleep.  
  
Elaine opened the door just a crack, poked her head in, and waved to Sören and Anthony, who waved back, Sören with a shit-eating grin on his face. Elaine raised an eyebrow at them, and her lips quirked as she said, "I'm making pancakes if you boys want to get up now."  
  
And when the door had closed again and Anthony and Sören got up, then they realized - Sören had slept on the leash, and though they were largely under the covers when Elaine peeked in, Sören was still obviously on the leash and it had been wrapped around Anthony's hand, the one waving to his mother.  
  
"Oh, _god_," Anthony said, facepalming as Sören howled.  
  
"Well," Sören said with a shrug, "stranger things have happened."  
  
"No. _No they have not._" Anthony turned beetroot.  
  
But soon Anthony was exploding with laughter as well - mortified but still able to see the hilarity of the situation - and they barely contained themselves once they were downstairs, fully dressed, the leash back upstairs. Roger was reading the newspaper - answering Sören's curiosity if anyone read "dead tree" media anymore - and he watched them shuffle in to take places at the table. "Sleep well?" Roger asked.  
  
"Yeah, we slept great," Sören said, with a naughty grin at Anthony, who smirked into his orange juice.  
  
And Sören wondered then if he should, at some point, bring up his weird dreams with Anthony. But in the meantime, after breakfast he sat off in a corner of the garden while Anthony and Roger worked together, and began to draw on his WaCom tablet. _If I ever tell him, I might as well have something to show him._ For the first time he drew from his dreams, intending to make a full-color portrait, the silver-gold brother holding the dark-haired one on a leash of pearls as he was buried deep inside him.


	16. Beg For Me

It was Saturday, April fourteenth, and for the first time in weeks Sören had a Saturday off. Anthony let him sleep in, knowing what an exhausting week Sören had, and Sören finally dragged himself out of bed in the late morning. He'd slept long and hard enough that he felt a little gross, so after relieving his bladder he brushed his teeth and jumped in the shower.  
  
That helped, though being naked in the shower made him ache for sexual release, wishing Anthony was there in the shower with him. Feeling horny, when Sören was done with his shower he put a towel around his waist - the towel tented from his erection - and sauntered down the hall to the living room.  
  
Anthony was sitting at his desk with a pile of paperwork and his laptop, still in his pajamas, wearing the wire-rimmed glasses that did not help calm Sören's libido any. The scowl of intense concentration as Anthony looked at paperwork and then typed on his laptop also didn't help to calm Sören's libido - Sören always thought he looked devastatingly sexy like that.  
  
Sören let out a little whistle.  
  
"Good morning," Anthony said, not looking up, continuing to type.  
  
Sören put a hand on his hip. He knew whatever Anthony was working on was important - he was dealing with a particularly stressful case right now - but he still wanted more attention than that. "Good morning to you."  
  
Anthony, sensing the edge in Sören's voice, stopped typing and finally looked at him. His jaw dropped a little and he exhaled sharply. "My god, Sören."  
  
"You want to take a break? All work and no play..."  
  
Anthony gave a nervous chuckle. "I would, but I've got to take care of this. A little later?"  
  
"A _little_ later." Sören was disappointed, but he got it. He walked back down to the bedroom and got changed into a fresh pair of pajamas, since they probably weren't going anywhere today.  
  
Sören's erection went away on its own, but Sören was still aching to be intimate with the man he loved. Sören went back out, made coffee, and sat on the couch with his WaCom tablet, sketching Anthony, every now and again stealing glances at him. Anthony was absorbed in what he was doing, looking lost in his own world - Sören could practically see the gears spinning in his head.  
  
Sören wasn't sure how long Anthony meant by "a little later", but when an hour passed, Sören got up to stretch his legs and came over to Anthony, rubbing his shoulder. Anthony smiled and leaned into Sören's touch, purring like a cat, which made Sören smile. He ruffled Anthony's hair - only he and Anthony's mother could get away with that - and then Anthony took Sören's hand and kissed it. Just that little touch was enough to get Sören hot and bothered again.  
  
"Now?" Sören asked.  
  
Anthony chuckled softly. "Soon, love. I won't be able to really relax until this is done..."  
  
"Soon" was heartening, but then it became clear "soon" was even more vague and nebulous than "a little later", when fifteen to twenty minutes later Anthony was typing furiously. Sören stopped sketching and gave him a look, and Anthony was completely oblivious, typing away.  
  
It became apparent Sören was going to have to resort to drastic measures to get Anthony's attention when he was like this. Sören got up, went down the hall to the bedroom closet, and produced George the wig. When he came back, he walked towards the desk - Anthony was still just typing, looking over at his paperwork, typing - and just before Sören arrived at the desk, he got on his knees, crouching near to the floor. Anthony still continued typing. Sören's hand shot up, with George on his hand like a puppet, making George leap onto Anthony's desk like a cat. "Prrrp?"  
  
"Oh my god, Sören." Anthony laughed. "Oh god..."  
  
George "walked" over. "Meow?"  
  
Sören rose up, still on his knees, and raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I'm sorry," Anthony said. "I think I underestimated how much time this is going to take."  
  
"Anthony, have you been working on that _all_ day?"  
  
Anthony nodded solemnly.  
  
"Take a break." Sören gave him a stern look.  
  
"I told you, I won't be able to relax until this is finished. I'm sorry."  
  
Sören gave a sigh, and Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose, also sighing.  
  
Sören went back to his WaCom, with the wig on the coffee table. Another hour passed, and Sören decided to take matters into his own hands. He thought for a moment of what kind of mischief would get Anthony's notice...  
  
...the Roomba turned on and began making its rounds of the flat. Even though Anthony had a housekeeper come in at least once or twice a month to give the flat a thorough cleaning, Anthony and Sören still did what they could to keep the place from becoming a complete disaster, which included running the Roomba robot vacuum cleaner through the flat every day in the afternoon, when Sören and Anthony were usually at work (or Sören was home but sleeping like a log between shifts). Just before the Roomba could go past him, Sören put George on top of the Roomba. The Roomba then headed in the direction of the desk, with George riding on top of the Roomba.  
  
"Meow?" Sören called out. And then a longer, more plaintive "Meeeowwwww..."  
  
Anthony looked at Sören, then he noticed George riding the Roomba and he stopped what he was doing, holding himself as he turned beetroot and teared up, shaking with silent laughter.  
  
"MEOW? _MEOW._ MEOWWWWW..."  
  
"Sören." Anthony attempted to give Sören a serious look, but his eyes were laughing. He wiped a single tear. "Sören, dammit..."  
  
"MEOW."  
  
Anthony folded his arms, still shaking with laughter. "My wig does not meow. It is not a cat."  
  
Sören stopped meowing, and then he couldn't resist. "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..."  
  
Anthony facepalmed and his laughter was no longer silent.  
  
"MOOOOOOOOOOOOO? MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. _MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..._"  
  
"_Goddammit_, Sören."  
  
When they calmed down, Sören waggled his eyebrows at Anthony. "Now?"  
  
Anthony raised an eyebrow. He quietly got up, and gave the gesture for Sören to follow.  
  
Sören fell on him as soon as they got in the bedroom and after a few deep, hungry kisses Anthony rasped, "I'm still working."  
  
"Oh, goddammit..."  
  
"I know." Anthony frowned. "Just like you work a lot of crazy hours, sometimes I have homework on the weekend when a case is particularly involved. I'm sorry."  
  
"Not as sorry as I am."  
  
"Mmm." Anthony gave him a pointed look. "Not as sorry as you will be for distracting me, you naughty thing. I had a train of thought and you completely broke it and now I have to try to get it back, which adds even more time to this job."  
  
"'Not as sorry as you will be'?" Sören's lips quirked and his cock stirred. "Does that mean it'll be worth the wait?"  
  
Anthony's eyes were predatory, but his facial expression was neutral. "Undress."  
  
Sören did as he was told, and once he was completely nude - and fully erect in anticipation, wanting him - Anthony said, "Get on the bed, lay on your stomach."  
  
Once again, Sören did as he was told. He watched as Anthony opened the closet and produced a cashmere scarf. Sören's cock jolted as Anthony got on the bed behind him, grabbed Sören's arms, and pinned his wrists behind his back, binding them with the scarf. Sören moaned, rubbing against the mattress. Anthony slapped his ass and Sören moaned again, cock throbbing.  
  
Sören watched as Anthony produced the lube... and then the buttplug that Sören sometimes wore under his clothes in public, and that they'd played with once in awhile in bed, when Anthony wanted to tease him. The remote-controlled buttplug. After getting him slick, Anthony shoved the plug in him and turned the vibe on to its lowest setting.  
  
"Now then," Anthony said, taking the remote control, "I'll be finishing my work. In the meantime, you're not allowed to come yet." He slapped Sören's ass again. "You can beg for it, and if you beg prettily enough I might have mercy on you."  
  
With that, Anthony left the bedroom, remote control in hand, and Sören was left tied up on the bed, vibe pulsing away in his ass, teasing his prostate.  
  
This was kinky even for them, and as much as Sören ached for release and wished Anthony didn't have work to take care of, there was something delicious about this nonetheless - something perfect in its imperfect circumstances and improvised spontaneity. The vibe got Sören more and more worked up, as did that feeling of being completely under Anthony's control - bound, helpless - with Anthony teasing him, making him beg like the wanton, needy creature of lust that he was, rather than resorting to antics to get his attention. Wondering what Anthony had in store for him when he was finally ready just made Sören even hotter, his mind playing too many scenarios of how Anthony would take charge of him.  
  
"Oh god, please," Sören moaned. "Please, Anthony, please..."  
  
The vibe teased him and teased him, threatening to send him over the edge. Sören whimpered and howled, writhing against the restraints. "Oh god." He shuddered, wanting to be taken and fucked more than he'd wanted anything in his life. "Please. _Please._ Please..." He let out a little cry. "Please, Anthony, please... please... please..."  
  
After he'd been laying there for awhile, the vibe turned up to its next highest setting. Sören gasped, trembling as the pulsing on that sweet spot inside him got more and more exquisite. "Please. Please. _Please_, Anthony, please... please fuck me... please let me come... please, please, take me, use me, fuck me... please..."  
  
The speed began to change, going up then down, fast then slow. Sören was a sobbing wreck, going out of his mind with sensation and need. Bound as he was, there was something that nonetheless felt _freeing_ about this, given completely over to want, when he'd been so closed off sexually after what happened in Iceland. He felt alive again. He felt that fire in him again, and he had a feeling Anthony knew how much he needed this, needed that help with being able to let go, the healing power of losing control, surrendering after the tight fist of hypervigilance.  
  
"Please. Please. Please. Please... Anthony... please, fuck me, please..."  
  
Sören was starting to be unable to make words, just inhuman whines and cries as he held back his orgasm with every ounce of strength. The noises seemed to clue Anthony in to how perilously on the edge Sören was, and he turned the vibe up even higher, relentless in his teasing. Sören made a little scream of frustrated need and, gasping for breath, he tried to find his words, knowing by the way his balls were tightening that he wasn't going to be able to hold back much longer. "Please. Anthony. Please. Please, brother... please, brother, please. My brother. Please. _Please._ Please, I need you..."  
  
Then Sören moaned again, and the vibe slowed down, and after it purred away inside him at the slowest speed for a few moments, it turned off. Sören heard Anthony get up from the desk, and heard him coming down the hall.  
  
Silently, Anthony undressed, and got on the bed with Sören. He pulled the plug out of Sören, which almost made Sören come, and Sören shivered, almost coming again, when Anthony pushed a finger inside him.  
  
"God. Please." Sören gave him a pleading look.  
  
Without saying a word, Anthony climbed over Sören - for a moment Sören thought Anthony was going to take him from behind and Sören began to pant, "yes, yes, yes," encouraging him, wanting it. But Anthony started to kiss and lick down Sören's spine, teasing him even more; Sören shuddered and whimpered.  
  
When Anthony took a lick around the rim of Sören's opening, Sören almost came again. His fists clenched and he sobbed; he cried out as Anthony's tongue speared him.  
  
Anthony began to lick inside him slowly, sensually, lovingly. Anthony's tongue felt even more luscious than the vibe and Sören felt himself dangling on that edge, more and more undone with every stroke of that tongue on the sweet spot inside him. Sören heard himself make deep, guttural noises and high-pitched keening noises, voice rising and falling as Anthony took him to new heights of pleasure-torment.  
  
"I could do this to you for hours," Anthony husked before his tongue teased around the rim of Sören's channel again, in slow, deliberate circles.  
  
"Fuck. _Fuck_, god, Anthony, _please_, fuck me." Sören felt his thighs and stomach quivering, his cock and balls aching to come. "Fuckkkk..."  
  
Anthony laughed softly and kept licking around the hole again, before relenting and pushing his tongue back inside. That made it even worse, with Sören screaming in frustration, trying to rock his hips back and fuck himself on Anthony's tongue. That earned him a hard swat on the ass, and then another one.  
  
"Please," Sören begged. "Please. Please. Please..."  
  
Anthony let him beg some more, as his tongue worked its wicked magic inside him. Between his cries, Sören could hear Anthony starting to moan into Sören, breathing harder, tongue rubbing just a little harder and faster.  
  
And then Anthony said, "You can come now, sweetheart." And with that, his tongue rubbed hard and fast inside Sören, and the tension built up and up and up until Sören exploded, a primal roar bellowing out of him as he had a full-body orgasm, toes and fingers involuntarily curling.  
  
Sören came and came, shaking, gasping for breath. "Thank you," he whispered over and over again as euphoria flooded him. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you..."  
  
Anthony untied Sören's wrists and Sören gingerly move his arms and flexed his wrists, sore from having been tied up so long. Sören rolled onto his side and Anthony lay at Sören's side and began to rub Sören's arms and wrists, which helped. Sören looked down and saw Anthony was rock hard, dripping precum. The flushed, slick cock looked delicious - Sören knew from experience it was delicious - and Sören found himself licking his lips at it. Before he could dive down to take it into his mouth, Anthony stopped him, grabbing Sören by the curls and kissing him roughly. Even though Anthony's tongue had just been up his ass, Sören was freshly clean from the shower and it didn't taste bad at all. Sören moaned as Anthony rolled him onto his back, and Sören's spent cock sprang back to life.  
  
Sören was already open and slick from the vibe and all the tonguing, but Anthony got the lube anyway, pouring it directly into Sören with a determined look on his face that was almost angry. Then he knelt between Sören's legs, grabbed Sören's legs and wrapped them around his waist, and took Sören hard.  
  
In case Anthony's work ethic had left Sören with any doubt as to his interest, those doubts were shattered as Anthony drove into him, letting Sören feel his own pent-up need, how much he wanted. Sören grabbed up onto the pillows, white-knuckled, writhing as he matched Anthony's rhythm, rocking back at him, needing all that Anthony had to give. "Please," Sören begged again. "Please, please, please..."  
  
"That's it." Their eyes met. "Beg for me, brother."  
  
A shiver went down Sören's spine, his cock and hole both twinging at that one little word that held so much power over both of them. "Oh god. Please... please, fuck me, I need my brother's cock..."  
  
Anthony groaned and slammed into Sören even harder.  
  
Sören let out a cry and his hips worked faster. "Please, please, please, brother, please..."  
  
Anthony grabbed onto Sören's hips, and Sören reached up, needing to feel him. "Oh god," Sören moaned. "Oh god, please. Oh god, brother, please, _please_..."  
  
"Fuck, I want you," Anthony growled, fucking harder.  
  
At last Anthony's hand was on Sören's cock, index finger crooked possessively through the ring in the head. Sören was right on that edge again, not able to make words, and he watched Anthony trembling, saw the heat in his eyes, reveled in those deep, animal, _male_ noises as his lover got closer.  
  
"Please," Sören pleaded. "Please let me come..."  
  
Anthony gave a growl that almost set Sören off, and then he ground out, "Come for me."  
  
Sören lost control, shooting all over him, swearing in Icelandic as his body heaved with endless throbbing pleasure. A few seconds later Anthony was done, crying out Sören's name as he spent into him.  
  
With the storm of passion passed, there was just calm, the two of them holding each other, lost in the afterglow. Sören dozed off a little and was roused back awake by Anthony raining kisses on his face, stroking his cheek, petting his curls.  
  
"I'm sorry," Anthony said.  
  
"For what?" Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. "I came my brains out."  
  
Anthony laughed and he kissed the tip of Sören's nose, then he gave a shy, sheepish little smile. "Spending so much of the day _working_. I would have much rather spent all day in bed with you."  
  
"Well, it worked out." Sören gave him a reassuring pat. "I mean, I can't exactly fault you for having a lot of work to take care of, with my own hours being what they are."  
  
"No, but it still doesn't seem fair." Anthony sighed. "I wish we could stop time every so often and just be."  
  
"We can't," Sören said. "So we make do with what we have. And..." Sören kissed him. "That was a lot of fun, actually."  
  
"Oh good. I worried that maybe I left you tied up for too long -"  
  
"Well actually, I meant your face with George riding the Roomba." At the scandalized look Anthony gave him, Sören shook with laughter, tearing up, and patted Anthony again and said, "Jæja, being tied up was fun too."  
  
Anthony shook his head. "You're bloody impossible."  
  
"I should hope so."   
  
They kissed, and one kiss became another. Soon their cocks were hard again, rubbing together as they kissed more deeply, hands roaming over each other.  
  
"I think I want you inside me now," Anthony said, kissing Sören's neck.  
  
"I can definitely go for that," Sören said, and rolled Anthony onto his back.


	17. Garden of Sin

"Mmmmmmm." Sören smiled and giggled, waking to kisses raining over his face. Anthony rubbed his nose against Sören's before kissing the tip of Sören's nose, and then he tweaked it, making Sören giggle again and at last open his eyes to Anthony smiling at him, stroking Sören's face with love shining in his green eyes.  
  
Anthony being the first thing he saw was always Sören's preferred way to start the day, but there was something even nicer about his beloved in the golden glow of early morning, sun after yesterday's rain... waking up in the bed of Anthony's youth, under his parents' roof. It was strangely comforting to be there - Sören had wondered if he'd ever start feeling awkward around Anthony's parents, being of money, from such a radically different background than Sören's own experience of poverty and privation, but Sören felt at home here, just as much at home as in their flat in Kingston, if not moreso.  
  
And he knew Anthony felt that way too. He was always his most relaxed here, unguarded, almost _innocent_ in the home he grew up in, before he'd become the high-flying barrister.  
  
It was a Sunday morning - the twenty-ninth, the last weekend of April. Yesterday late afternoon Anthony had picked up Sören at National and they had driven in the rain to Anthony's parents' house, where they had dinner and spent the night. Sören also had tonight off and they'd be spending the night here as well, going to work from here and then returning to their own flat on Monday evening. It was sort of a weekend getaway without going anywhere, just having a bit of peace, rest and recovery after a hectic week for them both.  
  
Now Sören's arms were wrapped around Anthony, as they kissed again and again. Sören moaned as Anthony began to kiss and lick his neck, and moaned again as he felt Anthony's hard cock grinding against his thigh. Then Sören moaned into a deep, hungry kiss as Anthony's cock rubbed up against his, quickening to life.  
  
"I want you," Anthony rasped before he started kissing Sören's neck again.  
  
"I hadn't noticed."  
  
Anthony gave a growl of mock annoyance before his thumb brushed one of Sören's nipples, and began to rub in slow, lazy circles as his mouth found the sweet spot where his neck and shoulder met. Sören cried out, nails digging into Anthony's back as his cock jolted.  
  
"And I love you." Anthony propped himself up on one elbow for a moment, continuing to idly tease Sören's nipple. "More than anything in this world."  
  
"I love you." Sören pulled him into another kiss. "And want you."  
  
They kissed again, and after trailing kisses down Sören's throat, Anthony's tongue laved the nipple he'd been playing with, making Sören gasp and arch to him, the pleasure going straight to his cock. Anthony suckled, and when Sören let out a cry, Anthony put his finger to Sören's lips, laughing. It was Anthony's turn to moan when Sören began sucking on his finger.  
  
"We have to keep it down," Anthony whispered, and kissed Sören again.  
  
He went back to Sören's nipples, kissing one then the other, back and forth, his hand covering Sören's mouth to muffle the little cries Sören made, cock throbbing as his nipples hardened exquisitely. Then Anthony's kisses went lower, hands and mouth worshiping Sören's stomach and hips and thighs, until at last he took Sören's cock in his mouth, sucking slowly and sweetly. Sören pet Anthony's hair and gave soft moans and sighs of contentment. Anthony's mouth felt good in and of itself, but this was also an act of love for him - love that Sören could feel, as turned on by his enthusiasm, his passion, as he was by the sensation.  
  
Before Sören could come in his mouth, Anthony came up to kiss him, and then he rolled onto his back, pulling Sören atop him. He opened his legs and gave Sören that pleading look that Sören knew too well. Sören returned the favor of kissing, licking and caressing his way down Anthony's body - he'd been freshly waxed on Friday and Sören rubbed his nose against the smooth velvet skin, enjoying it, even as he wondered what it would be like if Anthony stopped waxing altogether. Sören licked at Anthony's cock, teasing him, and when Anthony got vocal Sören's fingers walked up to his mouth.  
  
"You're the one who said we had to be quiet," Sören laughed, before taking a slow, deliberate lick at the head of Anthony's cock, tongue brushing over the slit, seeping delicious precum.  
  
"Sören... dammit..."  
  
Sören knew what he wanted but wasn't going to give in just yet. His tongue licked up and down Anthony's cock some more, then he spent a few minutes licking and sucking on the already-tight balls before his tongue pushed inside him, finding the prostate right away and rubbing it, as Anthony struggled to keep his voice down.  
  
Sören ate him hungrily, reveling in the way Anthony trembled, breathing harder and faster, hands clutching at Sören's head, pulling his curls, soft, deep moans escaping him, eyes glazed with desire. He loved making Anthony lose control like this, watching the suave, confident professional turn to putty. Sören slowed down his licking, his own cock twinging as he heard Anthony's frustrated growl. He continued licking slowly, as much as Anthony could stand, until Anthony grabbed his curls and pulled him up, and commanded, "_Now_, Sören."  
  
But as urgent as Anthony was - an urgency that Sören's own body mirrored, Sören's cock flushed and dripping, throbbing with need - the golden haze of morning light and that feeling of coziness in their sanctuary put them in a more sensual mood. Sören pushed into him gently, and when he was all the way inside they took each other's hands and Sören just rested in him, the two of them just kissing and kissing, savoring that first moment of connection, being joined as one flesh. When the kiss broke Anthony stroked Sören's cheek and gave him a look filled with such longing and vulnerability that it brought tears to Sören's eyes, taking Anthony's hand and kissing it before pressing it to his heart, leaning down to claim another kiss as he began to thrust slowly, slowly.  
  
No matter how many times they'd done this, it never got old, making love together, and there was something about the sweetness of it this morning where Sören burned it into his memories to always cherish. Sören took his time, thrusting slowly in and out of the silken heat of his lover, as they kissed again and again, pet each other, hands sliding, exploring, needing to touch, feel, _love_ each other.  
  
"I love you," Sören whispered.  
  
"I love you." Anthony nuzzled him, kissed him deeper as he wrapped his arms around Sören, squeezed him before his hands caressed down Sören's back.  
  
The kisses got more heated, their tongues playing together between kisses, exciting them enough that Sören began to move just a little harder and faster. When Sören kissed and licked Anthony's neck and collarbone, Anthony's nails raked his back and that urged Sören on yet faster. And when Anthony returned those kisses, nibbling on Sören's neck, Sören gave in and began to drive into him, Anthony rocking his hips back at Sören, matching his rhythm, wanting this as badly as Sören did. Sören slammed into him fiercely, hungrily, nothing mattering but this, the two of them loving each other, wanting each other, _needing_. They tried to keep the moans down, kissing each other, which seemed to just make it even hotter, that forbidden thrill, and the pleasure of kissing, needing to connect with every part of them.  
  
When Anthony's eyes widened and he made a little whimper into their kiss, Sören knew he was close. He grabbed Anthony's hands and pounded away as hard as he could. Anthony shuddered and let out a gasp, bucking against Sören, his body heaving and quivering as his seed spurted over Sören's stomach and his channel clenched around Sören's cock, sending Sören over the edge into his own climax, claiming Anthony's mouth one last time as he trembled, spending deep inside him.  
  
They lay there, catching their breath; Anthony pulled Sören close and kissed the top of his head, rocking him. "Thank you."  
  
Sören grinned, feeling light as a feather and bright as the sun. "My pleasure."  
  
Anthony laughed and gave him a little kiss. "God, I love you."  
  
They snuggled and stole little kisses, and after awhile the kisses were deeper, more lingering, and at last they were making out, cocks hardened up again, rubbing together. Just as Anthony's hand wrapped around their cocks and started stroking, there was a soft knock at the door.  
  
"Shit," Anthony said under his breath. Sören quickly drew a sheet around them as Anthony called out, "Yes?"  
  
"Breakfast is ready," Elaine said, not opening the door.  
  
"Oh, OK, thank you."  
  
Anthony looked at Sören and they both gave a reluctant sigh, shared a quick little kiss, and Anthony let go of their cocks. They quickly got dressed in the change of clothes they brought with them - they'd showered late last night - and made their way downstairs.  
  
There was fresh fruit, and bacon, eggs and toast. Roger was reading _The Times_, and Elaine poured coffee. Dinner had been quiet last night, with Elaine giving Sören a chance to decompress, coming straight from his shift. Now there was conversation, with Elaine asking Anthony and Sören about their respective workweeks.  
  
Sören insisted on helping Elaine clear the table and do the dishes, even though it wasn't required of him - he felt at home here but he was also a guest and wanted to be polite. Elaine accompanied him in the kitchen while Roger took Anthony out to the garden, and she loaded the dishwasher as Sören presented her with rinsed dishes. The cast iron pan didn't go in the dishwasher, Sören using a brush to clean that, and that was when Elaine made her move.  
  
"The two of you have been together almost six months," she said.  
  
Sören nodded. "End of May, já."  
  
"Roger and I have a vacation home in Brighton, and we were telling Anthony and now we'll tell you, the two of you are welcome to use it if you want to go on holiday for your anniversary."  
  
"Oh!" That was unexpected, and Sören was touched by it. He knew their six-month anniversary was impending, weeks away, though he hadn't given any thought to what they might do, since he'd been so swamped with work. "Thank you, that's really nice of you."  
  
"Actually, any time the two of you feel like getting away, like for a weekend, and you might not want to come here, consider yourselves welcome to use the cottage." Elaine opened a kitchen drawer and presented a set of keys. "We'll let you boys know well in advance if we have plans to be there, but we don't go there often."  
  
Sören thought at the back of his mind that it seemed somewhat wasteful to have a second house not in use, even as he understood the whole point of a vacation home was that it would only be used on vacations, but he thought about the homeless in London and his own experience of going hungry some nights and wearing castoffs from neighbors growing up. Nonetheless, he smiled graciously as he took one of the keys and added it to his own keyring.  
  
Elaine seemed to sense Sören bristling slightly, and leaned against the counter with her arms folded. "Sören, you never talk about your own family."  
  
"There's... not much to talk about," Sören said.  
  
"Something happened to you in Iceland, didn't it? People don't just have the lifelong dream of coming over here to work for the NHS. People don't just leave _Iceland_ \- it's a beautiful safe, clean country."  
  
Sören sighed and looked at his feet. "I... I don't want to talk about it."  
  
"Fair." Elaine reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "Please know that I'm always here if you need a mum for whatever reason. You're part of the family now and I care about you. You're good to my son, and good _for_ my son, and that's because you're a good man. And if your family didn't treat you properly, that's on them. I would have been proud to have you as my own."  
  
Hot tears stung Sören's eyes. He didn't want to cry, and he felt guilty for feeling snarky a moment earlier about the vacation home.  
  
Elaine came over and gave him a hug, letting Sören's head rest on her shoulder for a moment, petting his curls. Sören was unused to having a mother figure or warmth from someone in a parental position, and the tears came, unable to be stopped. Elaine's arms tightened around him and she started to rock him. "I know," she said softly. "I know whatever it was, it was bad. And it's OK now. You've got a family now." Elaine kissed the top of his head. "You've got a mum now."  
  
Sören let out a sob, not able to help it. Elaine continued rocking him as Sören wept on her shoulder.  
  
A few minutes later Anthony walked in, and he paused when he saw Elaine holding Sören, who was crying more quietly now.  
  
"Is everything all right?" Anthony asked.  
  
Elaine nodded. "Yes, dear. I just told Sören about the place in Brighton and let him know he's part of the family."  
  
Anthony came over and hugged both of them, and that got Sören sobbing again. Anthony rubbed his nose in Sören's curls, and kissed his brow. "It's OK, love," Anthony said, looking like he was getting choked up too, feeling for Sören's pain. "It's all right."  
  
Elaine patted Anthony's cheek and then she pulled back. "Let me go check on your father in the garden," she said, and stepped out.  
  
Sören leaned against the sink. Anthony took his hands. "Sören." He kissed Sören's hands. "You OK?"  
  
Sören nodded. "She gave me a key to the vacation home and then she said 'you never talk about your family' and..." Sören gave a bitter laugh. "Vacation home. I thought it was a vacation when I was a kid if my aunt and uncle would just pass out drunk instead of starting shit with us."  
  
"_Jesus_, Sören."  
  
"I'm sorry." Sören felt immediately self-conscious, not wanting to wreck the peaceful, happy day.  
  
"No, you did nothing wrong. _I'm_ sorry." Anthony pulled him into another hug. "I wish you hadn't gone through all of that. That's terrible. And I know I don't even know the half of it."  
  
Sören leaned on Anthony, who pet his curls, rubbed his nose in them. "I love you so, so much," Anthony husked. "I hope you know that. I hope you can _feel_ that. I hope you can feel safe here, with me, and with my family." He squeezed Sören tight. "Our family."  
  
Before Sören could start blubbering again, touched by his words, Elaine came back into the kitchen. "Roger and I are going to head out. He needs a few things at the garden supply store, and I want to run to the grocer - I was going to put it off till tomorrow, but if he's wanting to go out I might as well. So we'll be gone for a couple of hours." Elaine gave them a pointed look, as if she knew the act of Anthony comforting Sören might involve things better given more privacy.  
  
"OK," Anthony said.  
  
"Do you boys have any requests for dinner?" Elaine cocked her head to one side. "Sören, dear, Icelanders like fish, yes?"  
  
"We do," Sören said, nodding.  
  
"Hmmm, all right. I'll go to the fish market as well, bring back something special for you." She tousled Sören's curls, and he managed to smile for her. "There we go." She pinched his cheek. "You have such a lovely smile." She turned to her son. "Really, Anthony, you have very good taste." Then she snorted. "At least with this one."  
  
"Don't start about Paul again," Anthony said, and Sören realized it was the first time he had spoken one of his ex's names out loud.  
  
"He was grossly dishonest with you, he can rot as far as I'm concerned." Elaine's eyes met Sören's. "This one has a heart of gold. You can see it in his eyes."  
  
"He does." Anthony kissed Sören's brow. "Pure gold." Then he gave Sören a teasing grin. "And a soul of cheese."  
  
"_Takk_," Sören said, snickering. He loved it when Anthony ribbed him, and Sören could give it right back. "You'd know."  
  
Elaine snorted. "All right. We'll be back."  
  
Anthony continued holding Sören in the kitchen until they heard Elaine's Aston Martin drive off. Then they pulled apart and looked at each other. Sören tried to get himself under control, not wanting to start crying again because Anthony had cried for him.  
  
"Here," Anthony said, taking Sören's hand. "We should sit out in the garden for a bit, that'll help."  
  
"Let me... go freshen up first." Sören knew that the act of splashing water on his face would help ground him, not wanting to fall apart again in the garden.  
  
Sören went back upstairs. Without thinking of it he used the tail of his T-shirt to wipe his face, and immediately wished he hadn't, getting boogers all over it. Feeling gross, Sören pulled off his shirt in Anthony's bedroom and realized he needed a clean shirt. On impulse - not knowing if he'd even find anything - he opened Anthony's closet. He saw old school uniforms that hadn't been discarded yet, or ever, getting the sense Elaine kept them there for sentimental value. Then he found some T-shirts - he couldn't remember seeing Anthony in a T-shirt, ever - and grinned when he found an Oasis T-shirt. He and Anthony were roughly the same size, Anthony only slightly taller, so in a pinch they could wear each other's clothing, and the T-shirt suggested that Anthony was the same size as he'd been in the late 1990s. Sören pulled it on, and went to the bathroom to wash his face.  
  
Sören felt the urge to cry again, looking at himself wearing Anthony's Oasis T-shirt, feeling for the lonely teenage boy Anthony had been, the way he'd learned to mask his sensitivity to get by in the world, knowing what it had cost him. He didn't want to spend the entire day crying. He went back to Anthony's room, and he rummaged in his duffel bag and pulled out George the wig - which Sören had stowed away in case he had opportunity to troll Anthony - and then, also, he grabbed their lube and stuffed it in his pocket.  
  
When Sören came down, Anthony was waiting in the kitchen, and he did a double-take when he saw Sören wearing the Oasis T-shirt. "Really."  
  
"So, did you fancy either of the Gallagher brothers? Or you know, both?" Sören cackled. "Or was it just Gavin Rossdale?"  
  
Anthony facepalmed and shook with silent laughter, turning beetroot.  
  
"My brother Dag was really into pop-punk, like, Green Day, Sublime, The Offspring, stuff like that. Blur had that one song that wasn't even like anything else they did but Dag liked it... and I trolled the shit out of him by screaming 'OASIS IS BETTER!' when the song would come on the radio."  
  
Anthony doubled over.  
  
"And the thing was, I had a crush on the Gallagher brothers," Sören said. "I thought it was, I don't know, kind of sexy that they got into fights and beat each other up and stuff."  
  
"God, Sören."  
  
Anthony was so distracted by Sören wearing his shirt, and telling him about the ancedote from his younger days, that he didn't even notice Sören was bringing George out to the garden.  
  
For awhile they sat, snuggling together, basking in the warm spring sunshine. It was a perfect morning, made more perfect by the garden. Sören admired the roses and clematis; the hawthorn trees had been budding and were now showing their blooms. Soon the wisteria would flower. The herbs were just starting to sprout in their pots. A goldfinch alighted on a branch of one of the hawthorn trees and began to sing. The entire garden felt like it was singing, stirring with life... welcoming Sören home. This was the sort of place that would have felt surreal to Sören growing up - something out of a 19th century novel, something beyond his reach. Now he was here, like his life had become a fairytale. He remembered early on in their relationship, when Anthony said he had wished for Prince Charming as a child; now he had Sören.  
  
"I got that T-shirt at a concert," Anthony said, stroking Sören's curls.  
  
"Oh, you got to see them live?"  
  
"More than once. But this one... my father's brother, Nigel, took me. One of the very last memories I have of him before..." There was a waver in his voice. "Before he took his own life."  
  
"God, I'm sorry."  
  
"So am I." Anthony gave a small, rueful smile. "Was also my first experience with alcohol. I was underage and Nigel let me drink and of course I got very, very drunk, and very, very sick, and very, very hungover. If I'd have known then what I know now, I wouldn't have let him get me that drunk - he self-medicated with alcohol after he came back from the Gulf. But I didn't know. And despite being sick and hungover, and the fact that he really shouldn't have been drinking, it was a good memory." Anthony sighed. "I miss him."  
  
Sören kissed his cheek. "Does it bother you I'm wearing this? My T-shirt got yucky from crying, so..."  
  
"No, I'm not bothered. Just surprised. And nostalgic, a little." Anthony kissed Sören back. "I wish you could have met him."  
  
"So did he know you're..."  
  
Anthony nodded. "He was gay, and in the closet, as one had to be in those times. But he knew I was, and, well, he had a 'friend'." Anthony made air quotes. "Steven, who was always Uncle Steve to me. They broke up just before Nigel took his own life. I found out after the fact..." Anthony took a deep breath. "Uncle Steve was HIV positive, and it progressed into full-blown AIDS. He didn't want Nigel to see him die. So it was the perfect storm of war trauma, and being left..." Anthony closed his eyes.  
  
"I'm so sorry."  
  
Anthony opened his eyes and wiped them with the heel of his hand. "He would have liked you. They... both... would."  
  
"Were they buried? Cremated?"  
  
"Yeah, Nigel was buried here in London and Steve requested to have a plot next to his. Mum saw to it, even though it was Dad's brother, she loved Nigel."  
  
"Maybe one of these days we could drive out and... and put flowers on their graves." And Sören felt a pang then, because of course he hadn't done that for his parents or sister since he left Iceland; there was a chance he'd never go back.  
  
Anthony nodded. He blinked back tears. "Thank you."  
  
Sören hugged him tight.  
  
They resumed cuddling. Anthony managed to calm down, and they rested together in the peace of the garden. It was nice to just _be_, safe in this walled sanctuary, warm in the sunlight. After the week they'd both had, with Anthony's court cases and Sören's surgeries, they needed this. And they knew how much they both needed this, in tune with each other, from such different worlds and yet fitting together like they were made for each other.  
  
Sören let his mind just drift, weightless, and Anthony's voice cut into his thoughts again. "It looks good on you," he said.  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"The T-shirt." Anthony kissed the top of Sören's head. "You should keep it."  
  
Sören knew it was more than that; Anthony was trusting him to preserve the memory, somehow. Trusting him with a piece of his soul. Sören felt himself choking up again. He was tired of crying so much. Grasping for levity, Sören glanced over at George - Anthony either still hadn't noticed Sören brought the wig out to the garden, or hadn't said anything about it - and he said, "You know what else looks good on me?"  
  
Anthony raised an eyebrow.  
  
Sören reached out, grabbed George, and put it on his head.  
  
Anthony spluttered and doubled over, laughing, shaking. "Goddammit, Sören..."  
  
Sören stretched out in the grass and propped himself up on one elbow. He waggled his eyebrows at Anthony. "Argue with me like one of your French girls..."  
  
"_Oh my god._" Anthony was crying again, this time from laughing so hard. "Sören. _Sören._" Then he narrowed his eyes. "For one thing, you have that on backwards."  
  
Sören hadn't even realized, but he did indeed - the tails were supposed to go in back. He attempted to adjust the wig but ended up skewing it sideways.  
  
"That's still on wrong," Anthony said.  
  
"It's a style now. It's like... hip-hop fashion, but for barristers." Sören threw a gang sign. "Sup, my learned homey."  
  
Anthony buried his face in his hands, let out a howl, and gave Sören a little kick. "Sören."  
  
Sören took off the wig, sat it next to him in the grass, and gave it a little pat.  
  
"I can't believe you brought that. I mean... I know you've brought it out here before but..." Anthony shook his head.  
  
"I can't believe you'd leave George all by himself all weekend." Sören gave Anthony a mock stern look. "Especially when he got extra attention from you this week at court. He'd be lonely. And then he would cry. Isn't that right, George?" Sören made the wig nod. "He's already getting sad just thinking about it. MEOW. _MEOW._"  
  
Anthony facepalmed again, laughing. "Not the meowing again."  
  
"MOOOOOOOOOOOO? MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..."  
  
Anthony doubled over again. When he calmed down, he grabbed Sören and kissed him deeply, fiercely. After they pulled apart, breathing raggedly - Anthony's face was flushed, and he had that predatory look in his eye that let Sören know he was thinking of sex - Sören asked, "What was that for?"  
  
"I needed that." Anthony smiled fondly, stroking Sören's cheek. "You make me laugh and it's..." He sighed. "You are my sunshine, Sören. You are my light."  
  
They kissed again, and now Sören was aching for it too, responding to Anthony's need, and his body reminded him they had been interrupted before they could go again. Sören was touched by Anthony's words - Anthony always knew just what to say, and how to say it. He was too touched to respond with words from the heart of his own. So he went deeper, to his libido, to that id they had discovered they shared. "I'm kind of obligated, being your brother and all."  
  
Sören was the one to initiate the kiss this time and he smiled as Anthony moaned into the kiss. "That's right," Sören husked, reaching down to palm the hard bulge he knew was waiting for him. "Even your mum says she's my mum now... which makes me your brother." Sören kissed Anthony again, relishing the way Anthony trembled against him, guided Sören's hand rubbing the hard-on in his jeans.  
  
"Sören..." Anthony swallowed. "I..." He looked around.  
  
"Yes, here." Sören kissed him. "Right here." Sören trailed kisses along his jaw. "Mum and Dad are out running errands... we're all alone..." Sören fumbled for the button and zipper of Anthony's jeans. "Just you and me, here, in the garden. I want to make love to my beautiful brother here in this beautiful place."  
  
Sören began kissing Anthony's neck. Anthony moaned, "oh god," and now he was undoing Sören's jeans as well. They kissed hungrily, and then Sören peeled off the T-shirt and pulled Anthony into another deep kiss. After the kiss Sören took off Anthony's cashmere jumper, and they got out of their jeans and underwear as fast as they could. Once they were naked, Sören lay on his back in the grass and Anthony climbed atop him. "Our little secret," Sören whispered before he kissed Anthony again.  
  
Sören reached for the little bottle of lube he'd brought down in his jeans. Anthony laughed at it before Sören grabbed him and kissed him again. They both moaned into the kiss, hard cocks grinding together. Still kissing, Anthony poured the lube over their cocks and took them in his hand like he had before they'd been interrupted, stroking them slowly.  
  
"Oh, Sören." Anthony nipped Sören's lower lip. "Fuck, I want you."  
  
"Take me." Sören stroked his face, pet his hair. "I'm yours."  
  
They kissed again, and Sören spread his legs. Anthony straddled Sören's thighs and guided the tip of his cock to Sören's opening. Their eyes met and locked as Anthony began to push inside, inch by inch, both of them moaning when Anthony was buried to the hilt.  
  
Anthony kissed Sören hard. "I love you, brother."  
  
"I love you, brother."  
  
Sören wrapped his arms around him and Anthony began to thrust, echoing the same slow, sensuous rhythm of Sören inside him earlier this morning. But something about being here in nature, and the vulnerability they'd both shared, brought out the hunger sooner rather than later, and Anthony pounded into Sören, Sören's legs on his shoulders, with Sören giving it right back, rocking back at him, letting his cries ring out into the blue sky, not caring if the neighbors heard. Anthony's deep groans and growls followed, each of them undoing Sören more and more, and watching the animal in him come out to play, the fierce, almost angry look on his face as he took what was his... Sören loved it, clawing at him, completely lost in lust and sensation and hot sexual need.  
  
When they got close, Anthony leaned down to kiss Sören hard. Then he began kissing and licking Sören's neck, knowing what that did to him. "Does my brother like that?" Anthony rasped.  
  
"Oh, _god._" Sören's cock and hole twinged, threatening to send him off right then. "Yes. _God_, yes..."  
  
"I want to hear you say it." Their eyes locked again, and Anthony nibbled Sören's neck.  
  
"I love the way my brother fucks me," Sören breathed.  
  
Anthony moaned, and shuddered.  
  
Sören liked that too, his balls tightening, cock throbbing, ever closer as he spoke those deliciously forbidden, kinky words. "I love my brother's cock inside me. Love my brother fucking me right here out in the open like this, just taking my arse the way he wants to, reaming me with his big, hard cock..."  
  
"Oh, fuck." Anthony nibbled Sören again.  
  
Sören grabbed Anthony's face and kissed him. "So close."  
  
"Mmm, does my brother want to come for me?" Anthony's left hand slid down to grasp Sören's cock.  
  
"God, yes, please... I want to come for my brother..." Sören kissed him again, and then he kissed Anthony's neck. "And I want to feel my brother come inside me..." He bit Anthony's neck.  
  
Anthony bit him back, and drove into Sören hard and wild, making Sören cry out as their mouths met again. They stayed on that edge for a moment that felt like an eternity, frenzied, needy, desperate to come, desperate to keep going, _so good_, and then Anthony ground out, "Come, brother."  
  
That was it. Sören made an inhuman noise as he lost control, shooting over Anthony's stomach and chest. Anthony bit Sören's shoulder and growled, shuddering as he spent into him. Their eyes met and they kissed again, clinging to each other, rocking, laughing and crying. The goldfinch was calling again and they were right in a sunbeam, everything shimmering golden. Sören melted at the love in Anthony's eyes, as Anthony stroked his face, his curls, bathed in golden light. He burned the image into his mind's eye, to stay gold as the years wore on and they went silver...  
  
..._I want to grow old with this man._ Sören felt a frisson down his spine. He realized that earlier, when he was talking to Elaine in the kitchen, he hadn't just been thrown by Elaine telling him they were welcome to use the vacation home in Brighton, but some part of him had expected Elaine to follow up the observation that it had almost been six months, with asking about marriage.  
  
It was probably too soon to start thinking like that, since it hadn't quite been six months yet. And Sören didn't want to bring it up himself, in case Anthony wasn't into the idea at all, not wanting to scare him away. But here it was - Sören knew he wanted to spend his life with Anthony Hewlett-Johnson. They weren't just lovers, but they were each other's best friend. They got each other, different as they were, and they were careful with each other's wounded places.  
  
_You are my light_, Anthony had told him. And now he was shining in the sunbeam, as if they'd enacted some sort of ancient fertility rite of approaching May Day in the garden and were basking in the magic. Sören reached up to touch him, pet him, and thought to himself, _You are my light, too._ Sören could barely remember what it was like before Anthony, to come home from work to eat and sleep, a cold, sterile existence where one day bled into another. There was none of that anymore.  
  
They lay there, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be naked together in the spring garden, in the sunshine. Sören felt himself dozing off, and woke abruptly when he felt something on his nose - a butterfly. Anthony laughed, delighted at the butterfly on Sören's nose, and the butterfly flew away. "Awww," Anthony said, and then he kissed the tip of Sören's nose.  
  
They managed to get up and start putting on their clothes just as they heard Elaine's Aston Martin in the driveway. Sören stuffed the lube back in his jeans pocket and carried George inside, and Sören and Anthony tried to act casual in the kitchen, drinking lemonade as Elaine and Roger walked in.  
  
They went upstairs - Anthony wanted a nap. Sören snuggled against him for a bit, then, restless, took out his WaCom tablet. He found himself sketching them in the garden as they had been a short while ago, Anthony inside Sören, Sören's seed over both of them... touching, petting... the loving look that Anthony gave him as they lay there, and the love Sören felt in return, coming out in his smile, his eyes. Sören knew he was going to be coloring this in with the painting tools on the WaCom, turning it into a full digital painting, even if he was the only one who ever saw it. It would take awhile, but Sören needed to preserve the memory.  
  
_Remember the light._  
  
Sören was only done with the sketch when Anthony stirred awake; he'd get to the colors later. Sören kissed Anthony's face like Anthony had to Sören that morning, and Anthony smiled, stretched like a cat, and headbutted Sören like a cat, purring, making them both laugh.  
  
"You want to play Sonic?" Sören asked.  
  
Anthony nodded.  
  
It still felt a bit surreal, a neurosurgeon and a barrister playing Sonic the Hedgehog together like two overgrown manchildren, but then that was one of the reasons why it worked between them. Anthony turned on his ancient lava lamps for ambiance, which made them both laugh, and as they played, Anthony had on some of his old CDs to further the 90s nostalgia.  
  
And Sören found himself singing along with one of the songs.  
  
_Maybe I don't really wanna know  
How your garden grows  
'Cause I just wanna fly  
Lately did you ever feel the pain  
In the morning rain  
As it soaks you to the bone  
  
Maybe I just wanna fly  
Want to live I don't wanna die  
Maybe I just wanna breathe  
Maybe I just don't believe  
Maybe you're the same as me  
We see things they'll never see  
You and I are gonna live forever_


	18. Staying Gold

At the beginning of May, Sören arranged to take the weekend of May nineteenth and twentieth off, starting on the night of Friday the eighteenth, so he could celebrate his six-month anniversary with Anthony. It was hard to believe it had been six months already - time had flown by - but it was also hard to believe it had _only_ been six months, it felt like they had been together much longer than that.  
  
Sören was working more intense shifts to compensate for the weekend off, and while he generally disliked bringing up his personal life at work, it nonetheless came out on the Monday of that workweek, when he was sitting at break with Pamela and Colin.  
  
"You OK, mate?" Colin asked as Sören chugged on the second cup of coffee in ten minutes.  
  
"I can't fucking believe I agreed to pull fourteen-hour days now through Thursday, with _only_ ten hours on Friday," Sören said, "after working seventy hours last week."  
  
"Christ," Colin said, shaking his head. "But we won't be seeing you this weekend then, huh?"  
  
"Nope." Sören pursed his lips. "Got plans."  
  
"Ohhhh. _Plans._" Pamela grinned and elbowed him. "Been meaning to ask how things have been going for you and that lawyer."  
  
"Good," Sören said, nodding. "It's our six-month anniversary this weekend..."  
  
"Oh my, has it been that long already?" Pamela's mouth opened. "Congratulations!"  
  
"Yeah, congrats," Colin said, punching his arm. "Sounds like you guys are pretty solid."  
  
"I think so." Sören smiled.  
  
"So what kind of special plans do you have, or is that a secret?" Pamela asked.  
  
Sören shifted in his seat. "We're going to Brighton for the weekend."  
  
"Oh, lovely. I haven't been to Brighton in _ages_. My parents used to take us for a couple weeks holiday every summer and I treasure those memories," Pamela said.  
  
"What are you getting him?" Colin asked.  
  
Sören froze. "Oh, you mean, like... a present?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Sören didn't realize that might be a thing expected of him - he would have thought just going away for the weekend and the sacrifice involved to make that happen was good enough. Just like at Christmas and Anthony's birthday, Sören felt at a loss as to what to give him, the guy who had everything and could easily afford just about anything.  
  
That thought bothered him on the way home. And then, as Sören sat with his WaCom tablet after dinner and began working on the finishing touches of the coloring for the piece of him and Anthony naked in the garden, basking in the afterglow of lovemaking, he considered that this right here might be his gift for Anthony. He couldn't display it in the office the way he could the painting of the ravens, but Sören still wanted to get a couple prints of it anyway - a larger one to frame, and perhaps hang in the flat if Anthony was so inclined, like the bedroom, and a portfolio-sized one. Sören now had a binder of prints carefully tucked into laminated sheets, from work he'd done on the WaCom over the last few months. It was a way of having his art conveniently in one place... not that Sören had much confidence about showing other people.  
  
Indeed, Sören even had anxiety about showing Anthony the finished product, and his anxiety continued over the week - when he wasn't too distracted by work or by Anthony himself. He had plenty to keep him occupied.  
  
At last Friday evening came. Sören and Anthony had packed the night before, and the plan was for Anthony to pick Sören up at National and drive directly to Brighton, which was an hour an a half from London if traffic was good. Sören had the framed print for Anthony in his suitcase. But there was one last order of business to attend to; Anthony texted Sören a half-hour before his shift ended.  
  
_Did you remember to bring it?_  
  
Sören chuckled as he texted back. _LOL yes._  
  
"It" was a change of sexy underwear - a lacy black thong - and the buttplug. Sören had reservations about wearing the plug while he was at work because friction from the plug while he was performing surgery could be disastrous. But now that he was done for the day... Sören slipped into the restroom and changed out of his boxer-briefs and into the thong, and after cleaning out he applied a generous amount of lube and pushed in the plug.  
  
He knew Anthony had arrived even before he saw the car pull up, because the vibe turned onto its lowest setting while Sören sat in the lobby waiting. Sören loved the delicious naughty thrill of the vibe going on while he was in a public place, and he loved it even more when Anthony ducked in to collect him, greeting Sören with a big hug and a kiss, and discretely turned the vibe up to the next setting.  
  
Sören was already hard and aching by the time he got in the Audi. Anthony gave him a wicked grin as he leaned in to steal another kiss.  
  
As Anthony drove, every now and again he reached over to adjust the setting on the remote control of the vibe, turning it up or down. The vibe pulsing inside Sören combined with the purr of the engine to make him crazy, whimpering, cock and hole throbbing. Sören badly needed to come - and he especially needed to be _fucked_, as he'd been working so much this week that he'd only had energy for oral. But even as he squirmed and whined with frustration on the way to Brighton, he wouldn't have it any other way. He loved to be teased like this... loved being under Anthony's control. He loved that look of ownership Anthony gave him as he fiddled with the remote control on the vibe, or glanced over at him to watch him react, make sure he was OK.  
  
Or just to look at him for the sake of looking at him. "You're beautiful, you know," Anthony said.  
  
Sören's face flushed. He grinned, feeling strangely shy and fluttery - even after six months, Anthony still had that effect on him. "_Takk._"  
  
"I really missed you this week." Anthony reached over to rub Sören's knee, and Sören covered Anthony's hand with his. "Especially that smile. Your laugh."  
  
"I missed you too." As busy as Sören had been, Anthony was never far from his thoughts. "At least we get this entire weekend, and then a more normal week for me on Monday."  
  
"I've been going out of my mind since I got back from chambers. Thinking about you." Anthony's voice lowered, grew husky with emotion. "Wanting to hold you."  
  
That did it. Something in Sören's mind snapped, blinding him to logic and reason, and pure _need_ took over. Sören found himself leaning over, diving down, freeing Anthony's cock from his trousers and briefs, taking it into his mouth, smiling as he felt Anthony fully harden immediately. Anthony groaned and kept one hand on the wheel, the other on Sören's head. "Sweetheart..."  
  
"Mmmmmmf." Sören sucked him hungrily, fast and hard, rubbing his tongue as much as he could with his mouth full. "Mmmmmmm."  
  
"Oh god." Anthony shuddered, and exhaled sharply. "Sören..."  
  
Anthony continued to drive with Sören devouring him, until he couldn't anymore, swerving, and he quickly pulled over. Minutes later he was undone, panting, gasping as he came in Sören's mouth. Sören swallowed as much as he could, lapping up the rest. Then he kissed Anthony, letting him taste himself; Anthony moaned into the kiss, and his hand rested on the hard bulge in Sören's scrubs.  
  
"Now you'll last longer," Sören whispered as the kiss pulled apart. Not that Anthony had a problem with staying power, of course. "I want you to fuck me good and long."  
  
"God, Sören." Anthony laughed softly and kissed Sören back, his hand gently rubbing Sören's hard-on through his scrubs. As their tongues teased between kisses, Anthony turned up the vibe again, and Sören moaned, Anthony capturing the moan with another deep, fierce kiss.  
  
"I better get back on the road," Anthony rasped.  
  
They weren't far, only about fifteen minutes away. Even that seemed too long, as pent-up as Sören was. Sören managed to stop thinking of sex long enough to take in the view of Elaine and Roger's vacation home. It was smaller than the home in Blackheath - one story rather than four, and where the house in Blackheath was like something out of _Peter Pan_, this was more of a gingerbread house, both with its small size (though bigger than the brightly colored beach huts nearby) and grey cobblestone exterior, salt box roof. "Two bedrooms, open plan kitchen and living area, one bathroom," Anthony said as they pulled in. Looking at the generous, ornate arched glass windows, Sören wondered if Elaine had designed this house too, and as if he could read Sören's mind, Anthony said, "Yes, this is also one of my mum's designs."  
  
"She's brilliant," Sören said.  
  
Anthony nodded.  
  
The open plan living and kitchen area was light and airy, bright white walls, white furniture with blue and beige accents, dark hardwood floors. They brought their suitcases and bags in to the master bedroom, which continued the dark hardwood floors, and had steel grey walls, a light grey love seat, dark hardwood furniture and a king-sized bed with a duvet in an abstract navy-and-grey pattern, evocative of the sea in stormy weather. Sören smiled at the glass-fronted gas fireplace for cooler nights, the grey mantle topped with faceted glass lanterns in silver finish, each lantern holding a cream hurricane candle. Sören loved fireplaces and candles, and wondered about coming here in colder months.  
  
Sören immediately marched to the bathroom to wash his hands, force of habit as a surgeon. The bathroom had light teal walls and a teal-and-white tile floor, and was on the small side, with a glass-enclosed walk-in shower, a toilet, a sink, a mirror, wall shelves that held washcloths, towels, and assorted bath goods. The toilet and sink were done in a white marble finish, and the sink fixtures had a brushed silver finish; the mirror was in a frame made of seashells and the wall shelves were made from long pieces of natural driftwood. The bathroom smelled faintly of lavender.  
  
Sören looked at himself in the mirror in his light blue scrubs and long-sleeved black T-shirt, his hair in its requisite "man bun", and made a face. He took his hair down, shook out his curls, and then he decided just to strip all the way down, leaving on only the thong he'd put on just before he left National.  
  
"Sören, love?" Anthony called from the living and kitchen area, moving into the master bedroom, closer to the bathroom where he could hear the sink running. "Have you eaten? Are you hungry? I can grab us some fish and chips -"  
  
Sören walked out in his thong. Anthony's jaw dropped, and his cheeks flushed.  
  
"It's not food I'm hungry for right now," Sören said, turned down the duvet and the grey sheets underneath, and climbed onto the bed.  
  
Anthony undressed as quickly as he could - Sören smiled at his hard-on - and once he was naked, he joined Sören on the bed. For a moment he just looked at Sören, drinking him in, and then he took Sören's chin in his hand and kissed him, sweet and sensual. His free hand brushed Sören's curls, and slid over Sören's body, lingering on the nipples, gently rubbing up and down all the places he knew Sören was sensitive - stomach, hips, thighs. Sören moaned into the kiss, quivering to Anthony's touch.  
  
Then Anthony leaned over, a wicked look in his eyes as he took the waistband of Sören's thong between his teeth and began pulling down the lacy thong with his teeth. Sören loved it, clutching Anthony's head, petting his hair. When the thong was down to Sören's thighs, hard cock sprung free, Anthony paused to give it a few slow, deliberate teasing licks before he resumed pulling the thong down with his teeth.  
  
Once the thong was all the way off, Anthony removed the plug inside Sören. He took a moment to admire the hole open and ready for him, and then his tongue dipped inside, making Sören gasp and cry out, arching to him. Anthony's tongue felt especially good after all the teasing with the plug, and any other night Sören would be content to let Anthony lick him as long as he could stand it, but now Sören needed more. So much more.  
  
"Fuck me," Sören ground out. "Anthony, please. I need you in me. Now. Please. _Now._ Fuck me."  
  
Anthony gave a few more licks and then he stopped, with an exaggerated sigh. Then he nibbled on Sören's thigh, making Sören scream with pleasure, and he said, "If you're that much in heat for it -"  
  
He didn't even have to finish the sentence. Sören maneuvered himself, getting on all fours, face down, ass up. Anthony groaned and rubbed Sören's ass, giving it a slap before Sören heard Anthony rummaging around for the lube they'd packed. Once Anthony found it, Sören gasped as the cold liquid poured over his ass crack and dripped into him. He gasped again as Anthony knelt behind him, hard cock grinding in the cleft of Sören's ass, teasing them both.  
  
Then Anthony pushed into him, and once he was all the way inside they breathed together, Sören almost undone right away by the shape and weight of Anthony inside him, that moment of feeling completion, oneness with the man he loved, so intimate...  
  
Anthony began to thrust, hard and fast, just how Sören wanted it, desperate and aching to be fucked hard after the week he'd had. Sören rocked back against him, fucking himself on Anthony's cock, their hips slamming together as they pushed and pulled. Anthony grabbed Sören's hips, his deep moans and growls matched by Sören's broken cries. Sören's fists grabbed the pillows, white-knuckled, trembling as Anthony's cock stroked that magic place inside him just right, Sören aching to come but also never wanting that delicious rhythm to stop, never wanting to stop _fucking_, completely lost in sensation as well as his lust for being taken like this, the two of them giving in to their animal side...  
  
"Fuck me," Sören cried out. "Oh god, fuck me, Anthony, fuck me, _fuck me_..."  
  
Anthony reached and grabbed Sören's curls, pulling them. He slapped Sören's ass with the other hand. Sören loved that, rocking back against him even harder, an inhuman keening noise ripping out of him as the pleasure wound tighter, higher, deeper.  
  
"Fuck me." Sören panted, gasped, moaned. "Fuck me. Fuck me, Anthony, fuck me, fuck me..."  
  
"Sören." Anthony gave a deep, hungry growl. "Oh god, Sören."  
  
When Sören was right on that edge, his body threatening to climax any time now, desperately holding back to feel that luscious cock rubbing in him just a little longer, to fuck, to mate just a little longer, Anthony leaned down, his arms holding Sören tight, and he began to kiss Sören's neck, nape, shoulder. One hand slid down to cup Sören's hard, throbbing, dripping cock, stroking it in time with their thrusts. "Sören," Anthony rasped between kisses, nibbles at Sören's neck. "Sören... I love you."  
  
Sören tilted his head and they kissed, and Anthony drove into him even harder, stroked Sören's cock furiously. Sören came hard, crying out into the kiss, and a few seconds later Anthony cried out into the kiss as well, Sören crying out again as he felt Anthony erupting inside him, shaking against him. They gasped for breath, and then they kissed again, Anthony's hands taking Sören's as they sank down together, riding the wave of their bliss.  
  
"I love you, darling," Anthony whispered, nuzzling Sören's curls, raining soft little kisses over Sören's nape and shoulder that sent delicious chills through him, reminding him there was more to come later. "I love you. I love you... I love you so much..."  
  
"Mmmmf," Sören mumbled, already dazed, shattered from such an intense orgasm. "I love you."  
  
Anthony laughed and kissed the top of Sören's head. "You never did answer me as to whether or not you've eaten."  
  
"Mmmmmf."  
  
Sören dozed off, and a little while later Anthony woke him up; Sören smelled something delicious and his nose twitched before his eyes opened.  
  
"It's late enough that I think the fish and chips stalls might be closed, and I didn't think you wanted to go into town to a restaurant, but my mum keeps bread in the freezer and things like soup in the cupboards, and she was here earlier this month and left us some things like cheese for this weekend. So I, ah. Made you grilled cheese and tomato soup."  
  
Sören beamed - Anthony knew grilled cheese was his favorite, too. Anthony put a towel over Sören so he wouldn't get crumbs in the bed and Sören ate the soup and sandwiches, and Anthony rubbed Sören's feet as he ate, smiling at him indulgently.  
  
After Sören ate and Anthony did the dishes, they showered together, getting aroused in the shower again, feverishly kissing and caressing under the spray, hard cocks rubbing together. They kissed all the way to the bed and found their way into a sixty-nine, laying on their sides, sucking each other's cocks, fingering and licking each other's passages, until Sören came in Anthony's mouth and then, seconds later, Anthony came in Sören's mouth, taking each other's hands as they climaxed. When they came down from their orgasm, Anthony spooned Sören, arms tight around him, and Sören smiled as he snuggled into sleep, feeling as right as right could be.  
  
Anthony woke him up the next morning, hard and ready for him. Sören hardened to Anthony's kisses, and he lay back as Anthony straddled his hips and impaled himself. Watching Anthony ride him was delicious, watching Anthony come even moreso, and Sören had a mind-blowing orgasm, grinning like an idiot as Anthony cuddled into his chest. They dozed off again and then Sören was woken up by an urgent "oh _shit_" and before Sören could panic, Anthony said, "I was going to take you on a little tour of Brighton and we slept half the day."  
  
It was only almost noon, and there was still plenty of day to be had. It was an overcast day, not too hot and not too cool, which was perfect to do a lot of walking.  
  
They started with the quirky shops in the Lanes - of the shops, they spent the most time in an antique shop, where they mutually decided on an Italian-style baroque mirror with a silver frame to bring back to the flat in Kingston when it was time to go back. Sören realized it was the first piece of decor they'd picked out as a couple, and that gave him a good feeling. He neither needed nor wanted to do over the flat to make it more "theirs" than Anthony's, he liked the way it was set up, but nonetheless, little personal touches seemed to cement that they were building a life together. Sören cringed at the price tag, considering putting the mirror back, but Anthony was very casual about it, like the price was nothing to him - once again, the reminder that they were from two different worlds. And yet, Anthony had no judgment for him, only the desire to share, to give Sören the things he couldn't have growing up. Sören put an arm around him and gave him a little kiss as they checked out, not caring who saw and who might disapprove.  
  
After the antique shop, Anthony showed Sören the Royal Pavilion. The seaside pleasure palace of King George IV made Anthony look like a pauper by comparison, with its Regency-era excess. Sören couldn't get over it, jaw gaping as they went from room to room - the Banqueting Room, the Music Room, the King's Apartments, the Saloon, the Reception Room. The bold, vibrant colors, the recurring peacock, dragon and phoenix motifs, the chandeliers, the ornate furnishings and objects d'art were like something out of a fairy tale, fantasy palace, Sören feeling like he'd suddenly stepped into a Disney movie. It was made more surreal by the fact that it was _real_.  
  
"How much money did this guy have?" Sören asked in a hushed tone of voice.  
  
"Too much," Anthony said. "Even Queen Victoria was scandalized, decades later, and she sold this place to the city of Brighton."  
  
"Good lord. Is this why people hate the royal family? ...Iceland doesn't have a monarchy, you know. We had the Danish royal family till we got our independence in 1944. And the people we vote into office tend to be everyday, normal people. I met our Prime Minister, Jóhanna, once at a coffee shop in Reykjavik, she was very nice." Sören did not understand English political customs, especially the reverence of the monarchy.  
  
Anthony gave a nervous little laugh, glanced around to see if anyone had heard that, and said, "You probably should be careful expressing any opinions about the royal family in public. People can get touchy about that."  
  
"Oh, OK."  
  
At last it was time for the beach. "It's so different from Iceland," Sören said as he walked with Anthony, holding hands, looking for a good spot to spread a blanket. "The beach is all stony here. We've got sand where I come from."  
  
"I've never seen a sandy beach," Anthony said.  
  
"_Really._" Sören raised an eyebrow. "Did you not visit beaches when you toured Europe?"  
  
Anthony shook his head. "I burn if I'm in the sun too long, so I'm not usually a beachgoer." He gave a sheepish little smile. "But the sea is nice." He snorted as they spread the blanket. "That sounds so trite. _'The sea is nice.'_"  
  
"The sea can be nasty, too," Sören said.  
  
"Mhm. That's part of the beauty of it. I think the sea is actually more interesting to look at on a stormy day." Anthony sat down on the blanket.  
  
"So do I."  
  
"But it's lovely when it's peaceful like it is now. Especially on overcast days like this."  
  
"Where golden light cuts through silver clouds." Sören looked at the sky, and the sea's reflection.  
  
"Mmm." Anthony leaned against him.  
  
And Sören found himself recalling a poem by Robert Frost, reciting it out loud.  
  
_Nature’s first green is gold,  
Her hardest hue to hold.  
Her early leaf’s a flower;  
But only so an hour._  
  
Anthony finished with the next four lines.  
  
_ Then leaf subsides to leaf.  
So Eden sank to grief,  
So dawn goes down to day.  
Nothing gold can stay._  
  
Their eyes met, and held. Anthony took Sören's hand and squeezed. Sören moved closer and they kissed. Salt breeze stirred Sören's curls, hair tickling Anthony's nose, making him laugh into the kiss, making Sören laugh when he opened his eyes and saw what the wind was doing. The kiss deepened, and they clung to each other, as if they'd both discovered some secret they both shared in their hearts, something that made them both tick the same way, different as they both were.  
  
They curled up together on the blanket, watching the sea and the sky, the play of silver and gold, breathing in the salt air. Part of Sören was there, taking in every moment, every second, preserving this for all time in his memory, sharing this space with the man he loved. And part of Sören was drifting off, exhausted from a long day at work, mind and body at rest, just _being_. He could tell it was the same for Anthony, that for once the gears in his head had stopped turning - he was always at motion internally, like a shark that never slept, but he seemed to also just relax here, and though he worked fewer hours on the whole he had just as much adrenaline surging and crashing in his job as Sören did, and needed the rest as well.  
  
After they had lay on the beach for awhile, Anthony began to absent-mindedly play with Sören's hair. Sören's stomach growled, and Anthony laughed, rubbed Sören's tummy, and said, "Come on, let's get something to eat."  
  
They picked up fish and chips and took it back to the beach house, just in time for it to rain. They dashed inside, careful not to get the bags of food wet. They ate together at the storm window, one of the only windows in the house that wasn't arched, where there was a bench-type space with blankets and pillows made for sitting and looking out the window. Curled up in a blanket together, feeding each other fish and chips as they watched the rainy sea, Sören felt cozy, a strange sense of quiet joy; this was already one of his favorite memories of being with Anthony.  
  
When their food was finished, Anthony told Sören, "I have something for you."  
  
"Is it your cock?" Sören raised an eyebrow.  
  
Anthony facepalmed. "You're insatiable. And incorrigible."  
  
"_Takk._"  
  
"It's not that, you." Anthony gave him a look. Then, mischief in his eyes, he said, "Not yet, anyway."  
  
He took Sören's hands and led Sören, reluctantly, away from the storm window into the living area. Sören sat down, and Anthony went to the bedroom; Sören heard him going through his suitcase. Sören's heart beat a little faster, but he was more nervous than excited, knowing this was probably his anniversary present, and now he was worried all over again that when he brought out the painting, Anthony wouldn't like it.  
  
Anthony came back with a small black box that was obviously from a jeweler, and handed it to him. Sören took it hesitantly, wondering what it was. Part of him hoped it was an engagement ring, but he knew it was soon for that, and Anthony wasn't getting down on a knee.  
  
Sören opened the box and he saw a pair of stud earrings - Sören had two holes pierced in each ear, and NHS would only let him wear studs on shift. The earrings were white gold, set with intensely blue-violet stones, round cut. "Oh my god."  
  
"Those are tanzanite," Anthony said.  
  
"Jesus _Christ._" Sören knew Anthony had spent at least a few hundred quid on those, probably more. They were gorgeous.  
  
"I know blue is your favorite color. I thought about sapphire, but these were brighter -"  
  
Sören threw his arms around Anthony and kissed him hard, tearing up. "Anthony. You absolute mad lad."  
  
Anthony laughed. "Did you learn that from Colin?"  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
"He calls you that, doesn't he?"  
  
Sören nodded, laughing too.  
  
Then Sören took the front pair of studs out of his ears, and Anthony helped him put in the new earrings. Anthony accompanied Sören to the bathroom so Sören could look at them. "They're beautiful," Sören said sincerely, admiring the rich indigo.  
  
"I wanted to get you something sparkly and shiny... just like you."  
  
Sören kissed him again, touched, bashful and giddy. Sören would have been tempted to drag Anthony back to bed, but since Anthony gave him his anniversary gift, it was time for Sören to reciprocate. Sören swallowed hard, and Anthony gave him a concerned look.  
  
"You OK?"  
  
Sören nodded. "Jæja. I..." Sören swallowed again. "Feel like a cheap bastard now, with what I got you for our anniversary."  
  
Anthony folded his arms. "Sören, this isn't a competition. I got you those earrings because I wanted to, not because I thought you would or should get me something equally expensive."  
  
"Well, what I got you definitely isn't worth what you spent on me." Sören's face burned, feeling self-conscious, his stomach doing flip-flops.  
  
"Sören, I very likely won't hate whatever it is you got me. You didn't have to get me anything at all, actually -"  
  
"Let me just... show you and..." Sören caught himself before he could finish with _get it over with_, aware of how that would sound. He didn't want to rain on Anthony's parade of taking pleasure in spoiling him, and Sören tried to not listen to that inner voice of _he spent all that money on you and you're not worth it_. "Close your eyes."  
  
Anthony sat on the edge of the bed and kept his eyes closed as Sören went in his suitcase. Sören pulled out the framed painting of them naked in the garden - of Anthony still inside Sören, Sören's seed spilled over both of them, looking into each other's eyes, smiling, touching, basking in the euphoria and the golden sunlight post-orgasm. Sören cleared his throat. Anthony opened his eyes, and Sören turned over the frame so he could see.  
  
Anthony's mouth opened and his eyes widened. Sören froze, not knowing what kind of reaction he was having, and when a full minute passed and Anthony didn't say anything, Sören's heart hammered, his hands shaking as the hysteria rose in him. _He hates it. Oh god. Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod -_  
  
"No, what you got me definitely wasn't worth what I spent on you," Anthony said, and as another _ohgod_ screamed through Sören's mind, Anthony looked up, met Sören's eyes, and said, "It's worth way more."  
  
Now it was Sören's turn to open his mouth, and he made a strangled noise of relief, also feeling deeply touched - awed - by Anthony's praise. Anthony took the frame out of Sören's hands and sat with it, and Sören saw that he was visibly teared up, smiling through his tears.  
  
"My god, Sören. That's... calling it _beautiful_ seems like an insult." Anthony gave Sören a little smirk, looking like he was trying for levity. "I could be biased with the subject matter, of course, but..." He ran a finger along the frame. "It's like looking at a photograph. All the shading... all the detail... this took you hours and hours, didn't it?"  
  
"It did," Sören said, and then, "You like it?"  
  
"I love it." Anthony put the painting down, grabbed Sören and kissed him. "I love you." He kissed Sören's hand and pressed it to his heart. "And I love what we have. I..." He blinked back tears, getting choked up.  
  
Sören started to cry. When Anthony shed silent tears of his own, Sören wept, and Anthony started kissing Sören's tears, rocking him. "Sören. Your work belongs in a gallery."  
  
"Oh god..." Sören wept harder, not able to believe what he was hearing.  
  
"I mean it. You should think about sharing your art with the world. You have a gift."  
  
"You... mean that?" Sören sniffled. "You're not just saying that to be nice?"  
  
Anthony gave him a filthy look. "Sören..." He pulled back for a moment and folded his arms. "If I didn't like it I would be gracious and polite, because it's something you made, but I also wouldn't be telling you that you should show your art in galleries or something of the like." He stroked Sören's face, his expression softening. "Everything I've seen of your work is magnificent. Your sketchbook... the ravens I hang proudly in my office... and this is... above and beyond all of that. It's not just that you did such a photorealistic, accurate portrait, but..." He looked back at the painting, and then at Sören. "You got it down to the way we look at each other... the love in our eyes. Anyone looking at that could tell it isn't just sex, for us, it's not just physical, but we love each other. There's an emotional connection. You captured that. Hell, you captured that _moment_, that feeling of paradise found..."  
  
"Staying gold," Sören said softly.  
  
"Staying gold." Their eyes met. "And how that seems... symbolic... of what we have. When the world is dark, and cold, and crazy, we have light, and warmth, and peace with each other." Anthony took Sören's hands and kissed them.  
  
Sören hugged him tight. "I was so worried you wouldn't like it -"  
  
"_Sören._" Anthony squeezed him and then he gave Sören another stern look. "Why would you _think_ that?" And then his eyes narrowed. "_Who_ made you think that."  
  
Sören swallowed, and looked down. Those barrister instincts were razor-sharp, and they had lanced the wound. "I..."  
  
"Yes." Anthony nodded. "Tell me what it was. Who it was." His voice took on an edge. "It was that bastard Einar, wasn't it."  
  
Sören closed his eyes, nodded, and broke down, sobbing.  
  
"_Jesus_, Sören." Anthony grabbed him and started rocking him, petting his curls. Sören wept, and Anthony kept petting him. "It's all right, darling. It's all right, love."  
  
"I'm being a wet fucking blanket on our anniversary -"  
  
"Shhhh, no, just let it out."  
  
"I'm such a fucking crybaby."  
  
"He shamed you about that too, didn't he?" Their eyes met again; Anthony looked murderous, which sent a frisson of arousal through Sören.  
  
"Jæja, he did. I mean, he was always at me to 'be a man', that's why he ripped up my bunny..." Sören sobbed, remembering. "And he ripped up my art."  
  
"Of course he did." Anthony sighed. "Fucker," he swore under his breath.  
  
"Katrín did it too, but... Einar did it more. Katrín would tell me I was wasting my time, that I should be doing something useful... but Einar was the one to tell me that my work was shit. That what I drew was stupid. You know, fantasy things... elves, unicorns, dragons, faeries, trolls, enchanted forests, caves, palaces..." Sören closed his eyes, seeing Einar in his mind's eye, tearing up Sören's drawings before beating the hell out of him. "He told me I'd never amount to anything, that my art was worthless, that art itself is worthless, made for 'soft men' who 'never had to work a day in their lives', that I did it because I was worthless -"  
  
"Well, he's wrong. For a lot of reasons. Starting with the idea that there is no inherent value in art. Maybe this is my privilege speaking, but people _need_ beauty in their lives. And people who can't see that, like Einar... obviously are unbalanced. Full of ugliness." Anthony took Sören's hands again. "You got into medicine to save lives, to heal the sick... but your art is a form of healing as well. It helps you express yourself, and it touches something in others who look at it, takes them into a different world for awhile, where they can look at something beautiful, something _more_ than the world with all its problems, be reminded of better things."  
  
Sören wept afresh, as Anthony's words struck a chord in him.  
  
Anthony pulled Sören back into his arms, held him close. "And as worried as you were about sharing this with me, you _needed_ to. And I think part of what you need to heal, from Einar, is to share your work with the public. Yes, you're damned good, and your art deserves to be seen and admired by others. But also? _You_ deserve better than his insults, his lies, his _bullshit_ in your head. You deserve to know other people see your art as worthwhile, think what you do is lovely, the beautiful work of a beautiful heart." Anthony gave him a little kiss. "My mum has connections in the art world, she can help with -"  
  
"I don't know if I'm ready for that yet," Sören said, honestly.  
  
"OK. Fair enough. But... think about it, maybe?" Anthony rubbed Sören's back.  
  
Sören nodded. The idea of showing his art in a gallery seemed even more surreal than having been in a palace earlier that day, or wearing tanzanites in his ears now.  
  
"In the meantime..." Anthony grabbed the painting again. "I want to hang this in our bedroom, when we get back to Kingston."  
  
Sören smiled, feeling that warm glow of pride. "You really do like it?"  
  
Anthony gave him a look. "Sören." He cupped Sören's chin in his hand. "_Yes._" He kissed Sören then and when they pulled apart, breathing harder, he husked, "Let me show you how much."  
  
With that, he put the painting aside and pushed Sören back on the bed. He quickly pulled off Sören's jeans, took a moment to admire the silky blue thong Sören wore before he peeled that off too, and then he slid down and took Sören's cock into his mouth, showing Sören how he felt with his body. Sören's moans and sighs told Anthony he got the message.


	19. Graphic Nature

It was Tuesday, June fifth. Sören had started his shift Monday night and was scheduled into Tuesday afternoon. He was exhausted, and glad his last patient of the day was a consult, rather than surgery, though he'd found from past experience that sometimes consults could be just as delicate of a procedure, if the patient was very nervous or upset about what was going on with them.  
  
To his relief, his consult seemed to be mild-mannered and easygoing, or at the very least, refraining from a reaction, keeping calm for the meantime. The patient was a Ronald Daly, in his early forties, who had spinal stenosis and was going to need surgery. He was as tall as Sören and seemed like he had been handsome in his younger years, now had a "dad bod" and his brown hair was thinning. His blue eyes followed Sören around the room as Sören presented his X-rays and MRI scans, and explained what was happening to his back and what the surgery would entail; Sören would be one of the attending surgeons.  
  
"Do you have any questions for me?" Sören asked, as per the usual.  
  
"How long will the recovery process take?"  
  
"Full recovery? At least three months, possibly longer," Sören said, and finally the calm, composed mask broke, with Ron Daly frowning, blinking back tears. "I know," Sören said, genuine compassion husking his voice - he felt for him, as he always did with his patients. "I know you want your life back. You _should_ be able to do some things after six weeks - walking short distances, for example. But you're going to be laid up for at least four to six weeks where you'll have to severely limit movements and activities- you'll be in bed a lot, no way around that - and then after that you'll still need to go easy. You'll need physical therapy. You'll be out of work awhile, I'm guessing. If you have a strenuous job you may probably need to consider a different line of work, something more sedentary -"  
  
"No, it's not physically strenuous at all. I'm a barrister."  
  
"Ah!" Sören smiled a little. "My partner is a barrister. You should be fine to return to work in about two months in that case -"  
  
"-oh thank god."  
  
Sören's smile broadened, knowing Anthony would react much the same way if he had to be out of work. "Yes, I know, you lot live for the thrill of the courtroom. It's like an addiction."  
  
"It really is," Daly said, laughing.  
  
"_Unfortunately_, sitting for long periods of time - your desk, or in court - isn't going to be good for your recovery process either, so you'll have to make sure to stretch. And if you're on your feet in court, you may need a cane depending on how stable you are. And of course, you'll need to take care of yourself. Getting adequate rest, adequate nutrition..." Sören gave him a stern look. "Coffee is not a food."  
  
Daly laughed. "Yes, you know how it is."  
  
"I have to chase after my partner to make sure he eats and sleeps. And gets a yearly physical."  
  
Daly smiled. "My wife's a doctor."  
  
"Oh, really?"  
  
Daly nodded. "A cardiologist. She got after me to see a doctor about my back pain. When it first started, before it got bad, I kept telling her it's nothing and, well."  
  
"Oh no, it's definitely not nothing." Sören nodded and folded his arms. "She did the right thing, you already let it go too long."  
  
"Well, you know. We're trained to ignore pain in this world, and by the time it got crippling I had to see three different doctors before I could find one that would take my complaints seriously enough to order tests."  
  
Sören sighed and nodded again; it was all too common for physicians to dismiss complaints of pain as med-seeking and act like "pain is a part of life" and avoid costly specialist visits. He wondered bitterly how many lives would be saved if more physicians took their patients seriously. He knew it was even worse in the States. "It's good you got more than one opinion and didn't let it go, but then I suppose that's part of your job, is to argue the case till it can't be argued anymore."  
  
"Indeed." Daly smiled again.  
  
"So, any other questions, Mr. Daly?"  
  
"I think I'm probably set... I assume you'll be touching base with me prior to the surgery as far as avoiding food, medications, that sort of thing?"  
  
"Correct. Me or someone else on staff will get in touch with you when it gets closer to the date. First we have to look at the schedule and fit you in. The hardest part of all of this will be waiting for the surgery, and then the recovery time, especially when you feel restless and want to get back to doing things again. But you're in good hands, Mr. Daly. We'll fix you up."  
  
"I feel it," Daly said. "I'm glad you'll be attending the surgery, you've got a way about you that... puts me at ease. Probably other patients of yours too."  
  
"I've been told that before," Sören said, nodding. "I know all of this can be scary and overwhelming and I do what I can to make it less so."  
  
"You do a good job with presenting all of the information and explaining it in a way that laypeople can understand, and being very matter-of-fact about it rather than dramatizing or glossing it over. And you're very warm - I can tell you actually care about what happens to the people you see, you're committed to getting us better, which is reassuring." Daly raised an eyebrow. "So you said your partner is a barrister? What branch of law does he work in?"  
  
"He's a defense attorney," Sören said.  
  
"Oh then I've more than likely faced him... I'm Crown Prosecution."  
  
Sören normally didn't disclose his personal life to patients, but he thought it couldn't hurt in this case. "Anthony Hewlett-Johnson?"  
  
Daly's jaw dropped and his eyes widened. "You..." He blinked. "You. _Your partner is the Shark?_ But you're so _nice_."  
  
Sören's laughter rang out. "What? Anthony is very nice."  
  
Now it was Daly's turn to laugh. "You've never faced him in court."  
  
Sören knew from that first encounter with Anthony back in November, and all of the little "barrister moments" over the last six and a half months, that Anthony was probably damned good at his job, intimidatingly so. But this was the first time he'd met someone on the opposite side of a case, who had seen Anthony in action. "What did you call him? The Shark?"  
  
"The Shark." Daly gave a small, apologetic smile. "I didn't start calling him that, he's been called that for years. I don't know who started it."  
  
"And you guys call him that because..." But Sören already had an idea, having seen Anthony in "barrister mode" at home. He had very sharp instincts. If he knew he'd drawn blood, he'd go in for the kill, knowing what to ask, how to get what he was looking for. It was how he'd learned much of Sören's past, with Sören being reluctant to address certain subjects.  
  
"He's absolutely ruthless. Savage. He looks for that way in, right down to the subtlest cues - changes in speech pattern, tone of voice, posture, facial expression - and as soon as he's got it, he _eviscerates_. I've seen him rip witnesses apart, make them cry on the stand, challenge them into losing their tempers, make people fumble and contradict themselves or let something out that puts a big hole in the prosecution, and all he has to do is ask the right questions the right way. And of course, he never betrays the same sort of weakness to exploit himself, it's like he has no emotions. Always calm. Too calm. Which makes his defense logic seem even more convincing, when he spins his closing arguments. He could defend the Manson family and at the end of the day he'd have at least some of the court believing _they_ were the victims and everyone they killed had deserved it somehow. Nobody in their right mind wants to go up against Hewlett-Johnson. Every single time I've seen that he's going to be defense for a case I'm prosecuting, my reaction has been _oh God, oh shit, not him, anyone but him_. Even when he loses, it still doesn't feel like a win for our side. Going up against Anthony Hewlett-Johnson in court is like going to war against Sun Tzu."  
  
"Wow." Sören let out a low whistle.  
  
"So yes, the Shark." Daly raised his eyebrows. "I can't believe he even has a partner, let alone someone who seems very nice and compassionate, like you. No offense intended."  
  
"None taken," Sören said, though he still bristled slightly, feeling like he needed to defend Anthony somehow. "He's just doing his job."  
  
"Yes. The Nazi soldiers were just doing their job, and the KGB secret police were just doing their jobs too."  
  
The pleasant, cautiously optimistic consult had suddenly gotten very awkward. There was a moment of excruciating silence. Sören didn't even know how to respond to that, and decided it was probably best not to, for the sake of professionalism.  
  
"Well," Sören said, looking at the clock and then back at Daly, "If that's everything, I don't want to keep you."  
  
"Er, yes. Sorry, I got a bit carried away."  
  
"No need to apologize." _Even though you just sort of compared my partner to a Nazi._ Sören tried to smile. He offered his hand to shake, to be polite, much as the germophobic surgeon in him hated shaking hands with people. "Good luck to you, with the upcoming surgery and recovery time."  
  
Daly took Sören's hand, his grip firm, his shake hearty. "And good luck to you, with... your partner, there."  
  
  
_  
  
Sören got off work a couple hours before Anthony was set to leave chambers, and rather than hanging around at National for Anthony to pick him up and drive him back, Sören really wanted a shower and a nap. So Sören took the Tube home, with Deftones in his earphones, thinking of what Daly had told him as he zoned out to the music.  
  
_Your poison is glowing  
Against the night  
How can you lose  
Just show them tricks we like  
I'm aware of the demons  
That you've tucked away  
I like to watch you release them  
Go on and say...  
  
Tell me how you do it  
Every time it takes my knees out  
Still every time you do it  
I'm surprised, surprised  
  
Show your strings, your wires  
Check the lights  
Provide me clues just go ahead  
And break your silence  
And tell me your secret  
Can I watch you train?  
You know I like to believe it  
Go on explain...  
  
Tell me how you do it  
Every time it takes my knees out  
Cause every time you do it  
I'm on fire..._  
  
Sören knew going into their relationship that Anthony was tasked with defending the indefensible, and he'd gotten a visceral reminder of that back in March. And Sören had of course seen some of that shark-like nature himself - Anthony watching, listening for tells and responding, precise, measured. He had seen Anthony put on a figurative mask, guarding himself - almost turning into someone else entirely, too casual, glib - around his so-called "friends", who Sören disliked having to socialize with once a month, so Sören knew Anthony was definitely _capable_ of staging a persona. It was still very hard to reconcile the mental image of courtroom Anthony with the loving, caring man who he slept with, who had shown his shy, sensitive, vulnerable side, who had shown his inner dork, who had shown himself to be a secret romantic, who was all fire between the sheets, like a force of nature.  
  
Sören was too worn out to ruminate further, and after his shower he pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and fell into bed. He woke up to Anthony petting him, raining kisses over his face, and when Sören opened his eyes, the shy, sweet smile that Anthony gave him took his breath away.  
  
And there was no way to fake that, the love shining in his eyes, the way they crinkled at the corners. No way to fake the tenderness in his touch, as Anthony sat on the side of the bed, stroking Sören's curls, his cheek, his beard.  
  
"You looked so precious asleep that I thought about not disturbing you," Anthony said, "but I missed you." He leaned in again and kissed the tip of Sören's nose, then as Sören giggled he claimed his mouth.  
  
Sören moaned into the kiss, cock stirring. But Anthony got up. "I brought us Thai," he said.  
  
"Oh, good." Sören sat up, yawned, and stretched.  
  
Bare-chested, he followed Anthony out into the living room. Anthony put on the stereo - a selection of jazz, Sören recognized "Equinox" by John Coltrane. The coffee table was set up with food and drinks, and Anthony hadn't just brought home Thai, he'd also gotten Sören a bouquet of pink roses and mums.  
  
"Awwww, what's that for?" Sören asked, sitting next to him on the couch.  
  
"No reason. Just because I was thinking of you." Anthony gave him a kiss.  
  
Sören sighed, feeling all aflutter. He was tempted to say "fuck food, we can reheat it" and drag Anthony back to bed, but then his stomach growled and Anthony gave him a look. "You're always nagging me to eat something when I'm at the Inn and you haven't eaten since last night, have you?"  
  
Sören looked down, face burning. "Guilty."  
  
Anthony's response was to shove a forkful of pad thai in Sören's mouth. Sören laughed so hard he almost sprayed the noodles. He patted Anthony's head and after he chewed and swallowed he said, "How was your day?"  
  
Anthony made a noise. Sören patted him again.  
  
"It is so good to come home to you," Anthony said, rubbing noses with Sören before he kissed the tip of Sören's nose again. "You are my refuge."  
  
"I'm glad." Sören rubbed Anthony's knee. After a few bites of food, he decided he was going to come out with it in case Anthony faced him again and it was brought up. "I met one of your brethren today."  
  
"Oh!" Anthony cocked his head like a curious cat. "May I inquire?"  
  
Sören nodded. "Ronald Daly. I had a consult and he's going to be out of work for a bit."  
  
"I see."  
  
Sören noticed that Anthony kept his tone and expression neutral now, not reacting. "He brought up that he's married to a doctor, and it came out that I'm with a barrister and of course he wanted to know who. And, ah."  
  
There was a little telltale quirk of the lips, a slightly raised eyebrow.  
  
"He called you the Shark," Sören said.  
  
"Yes." Anthony nodded. "He did."  
  
"So you know people call you that."  
  
"I've known for quite some time. It started fairly soon in my career."  
  
"And it doesn't bother you."  
  
A cold, dangerous smile. "No."  
  
"He said some not very flattering things about you," Sören said.  
  
"I bet," Anthony said, working on his tom yum soup.  
  
"He's terrified of facing you in court."  
  
"Oh, I hope you didn't defend me _too_ much," Anthony said. "I can't have the opposition thinking I'm soft."  
  
"Well, he said something like, you could defend the Manson family and make people think they were the victims and the people they killed deserved it. I told him that you're doing your job and he said 'Nazi soldiers were just doing their job too.' The Nazi comment rubbed me the wrong way -"  
  
Anthony snorted. "He literally Godwinned you. That's... wow. I know Crown Prosecution has a lot of reasons to dislike me, but that's... special."  
  
"It doesn't bother you that he -"  
  
Anthony gave a resigned half-shrug. "If people are scared of facing me in court that's not exactly a bad thing as far as I'm concerned. I can use that. I didn't become a barrister to win popularity contests."  
  
"I suppose not, no." Sören nodded. "And no, I didn't say much about you at all, just that, you know, you're nice to me. Which you are."  
  
Anthony gave him another kiss. He put down his soup for a minute and took Sören's hand. "I feel like you're one of the only people I can truly be myself with. My mum is the other. My uncle Nigel was another, but he's gone now..."  
  
"...Yeah."  
  
"And I know that you're... you... all the time. You're one of the most sincere, earnest people I've ever met, which was part of what drew me to you. It's refreshing. I just..." Anthony frowned a little. "Hope you understand why it is the way it is. I went into this line of work for my conscience. After the experiences I had - being punished for defending myself against bullies in school... seeing what my uncle Nigel went through with almost going to prison when he had an episode... it became a calling. And I have to do this even when it bothers my conscience, when I have to defend the guilty as well as the innocent, fight for them both equally hard, because the entire system suffers if I don't. And I knew going into criminal defense work that plenty of people would think of me as the scum of the earth for defending the sort of people that I do, and those who don't look at me and they respect me for the wrong reasons - money, perceived power. I don't care if the rest of the world doesn't like me, really. I don't need many people. But I do need _you_, and I hope that you don't think less of me for doing what I must, even when it gets ugly. And it frequently does, in court."  
  
Sören looked into Anthony's eyes now and knew he was telling the truth. And he realized that rather being an incongruous picture, Anthony the Shark who scared the piss out of his court opponents and Anthony the sweet, affectionate man who brought him flowers and gave him nose kisses were the same person - two sides of his passion, his intensity.  
  
"I love you," Sören said. "And I think I get it." He was quiet for a minute, stroking his beard, trying to find the right words. Then he said, "You go out there and defend others because that's your heart, and it's a battle out there. The Shark persona is your armor... your weapon. You need that to survive, to be able to fight. And here, with me, this is your home, where the armor comes off, and your weapon - attention to detail, the ability to ask the right questions, get to the bottom of things, draw conclusions - you use that only as a tool of healing, to make me feel safe, and wanted, and loved, after everything I've gone through. People like Ron Daly might not be able to see how the two sides of you could co-exist and even be born from the same place, but I do."  
  
Anthony got very, very quiet. They continued eating, and when they were finished, Anthony took their empty containers to the trash. He came back with a bottle of ale from the fridge for both of them, and they drank in continued silence. Sören was starting to worry a little, and at last Anthony turned to him and said, "Thank you."  
  
And then, before Sören could respond, Anthony kissed him deeply, hungrily. Sören let out a little squeak as Anthony picked him up off the couch, and squeaked again, laughing, as Anthony carried him down the hall to the bedroom. Sören stopped laughing when he saw the deadly serious look on Anthony's face, eyes that could drill through granite, just before Anthony started undressing. Sören tugged off his pajama bottoms, letting them fall to the floor; Anthony came closer and grasped Sören's cock like he owned it, kissing him fiercely as the cock stirred in his hand.  
  
They kissed all the way to the bed, tumbling down together, and then Anthony grabbed Sören and kissed him harder, more passionately, making Sören moan into the kiss, urgently rubbing his cock against Anthony's. Anthony began kissing Sören's neck and shoulder, and Sören moaned again, and then he laughed a little and said, "What's gotten into you?"  
  
Anthony stopped kissing Sören's neck and took Sören's chin in his hand. "You get it," he said simply. "You get me. No one else does."  
  
With that, his mouth met Sören's again, and Sören felt both that heat of arousal flooding through him, and aching for his lonely, misunderstood wounded warrior. _Yes, I do get it. We're two bullied, picked-on kids who strongly like unfairness, and we both fight to save lives, in different ways._ It was a pity that people like Ron Daly didn't see that, and just dismissed Anthony as some sort of callous predator, and yet Sören understood that it was also necessary - that Ron Daly _couldn't_ see that, that it was better for Daly and people like him to fear Anthony. That was part of the battle.  
  
Here and now, Anthony's guard was down, sweeping Sören into passion... into vulnerability and trust. Anthony rolled onto his back and pulled Sören atop him. "You see inside me," he husked, stroking Sören's face, "and now I want to feel."  
  
Sören kissed Anthony deep and hard, and wordlessly reached for the lube on their bedtable. He slicked his fingers and pushed them into Anthony's passage, finding that place right away, smiling into the kiss as Anthony moaned. Sören rubbed in slow, lazy circles, until Anthony grabbed his hand and pulled Sören's fingers out, and poured lube over Sören's cock, working it over as he resumed kissing and licking Sören's neck and shoulder.  
  
Sören pushed into him slowly, Anthony pushing out as Sören pushed in, easing him along. Anthony wrapped his arms around Sören, and when Sören bottomed out inside him, their foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, breathing each other's breath as they gasped and panted at that first moment of oneness.  
  
Sören began to thrust slowly, kissing him again and again, fighting the urge to just pound into him, needing to prolong the sweetness of Anthony holding him this way, letting Sören in, Sören feeling as if they were making love with their souls, not just their bodies. _This is the one,_ Sören thought to himself as their tongues teased, played in the slow, sensual rhythm of the push and pull. _This is the one I want to spend my life with._  
  
The need got too great for the both of them and Sören took him harder, faster, and slammed into him even more furiously as Anthony's voice rose, moaning louder and louder, Anthony's eyes glazed, a look of worship on his face. Sören loved seeing him completely rapt in passion, desire, and Sören was just as hungry, wanting, driving into him with abandon, growling, grunting. This was profane as well as sacred, deliciously so, the two of them losing themselves in the blinding glory of sex, fire calling to fire, mating with a savage, primal hunger.  
  
Anthony's nails raked Sören's back, his teeth on Sören's neck, his shoulder, growling back at Sören. Sören fucked even harder, shuddering at the delicious silken heat grasping and stroking him, too good to last and yet he made himself, wanting to make Anthony come, wanting to see him, hear him, feel him lose control, wanting to give ecstasy to the man he loved. A few minutes later, as Sören was trembling, making little keening noises as he tried to hold back his orgasm, Anthony climaxed, crying out Sören's name as he erupted, spilling over their stomachs. Three thrusts later Sören spent, Anthony's channel pulsing around him as Sören sobbed and swore, turned to mush as Anthony held him close and tight.  
  
They rested there, catching their breath, and then they kissed, deeply, sweetly. The kiss was enough to make Sören harden up again, and Anthony chuckled softly, giving Sören's ass a playful swat. "All right, Captain Insatiable," Anthony teased.  
  
"That's Doctor Insatiable to you."  
  
"Doctor Impossible."  
  
"Like you're not."  
  
"Doctor Bloody Impossible."  
  
Sören nipped Anthony's lower lip, and Anthony nipped Sören's nose, making Sören squeal and giggle. Then Anthony guided Sören's hand down to his cock, which had also hardened. "Your turn," Anthony whispered.  
  
Sören pulled out of him, and poured lube over Anthony's cock, kissing him as he played with it, coating it with the lube. Then Anthony gave him an expectant look, and after another kiss he tapped his shoulders, a "get up here" gesture.  
  
Sören slid up and sat on Anthony's face, gasping as Anthony's tongue pushed into him. Anthony loved eating him out, and Sören loved his wicked tongue - nobody else had ever rimmed him so enthusiastically, with such talent. Sören held onto the headboard as Anthony's tongue played inside him, rubbing fast then slow then fast again, teasing and teasing, Sören crying out with delight as Anthony pleasured that magic button inside him, working his tongue like a hurricane and then like a brush, fierce and hungry then sweet and delicate. Sören got closer and closer to orgasm, until he was quivering, panting, swearing in Icelandic. Before he could come just from Anthony's tongue, Anthony patted Sören's ass for him to get down.  
  
Sören slid back down, straddled Anthony's hips, and sank onto the hard, waiting cock. They both moaned as Anthony filled him, and again when Sören began to ride. Sören bucked slowly at first, sensually, his hands roaming over Anthony's body, caressing. Anthony's own hands glided over Sören, electrifying him, Sören breaking into gooseflesh at his touch. Sören cried out as Anthony's fingers and thumbs lingered on his nipples, rubbing them into hard, aching peaks, then tugged on the rings before pinching and rubbing some more.  
  
When Anthony pulled on Sören's nipple rings again, that was Sören's cue to ride harder and faster. Anthony grabbed Sören's hips and thrust into him even harder, and when Sören bounced madly, like he was riding a wild bull, Anthony rewarded him by playing with his nipples some more, pulling on the rings again when he wanted Sören to ride faster. At last they had both worked up a sweat - Sören loved the sight of Anthony glistening, flushed, hair damp as he gave his all - and Sören was grabbing onto Anthony for dear life, howling with pleasure as Anthony's cock stroked that sweet spot within him at fever pitch, pushing him to that point of no return. And when Anthony rasped, "Come for me," Sören exploded, throwing back his head and letting out a long, wordless scream as he came so hard it almost hurt, the contractions intense, powerful, seed spraying all over Anthony and even hitting the headboard and the wall.  
  
"Fuck," Sören gasped, laughing.  
  
Sören sighed as he sank back into Anthony's arms. Anthony kissed the top of Sören's head, pet his curls, and snuggled him, the two of them rocking a little as they melted into bliss.  
  
Sören dozed off for awhile, and then he was woken up to Anthony gently rubbing his back and shaking him a little. "I need a shower," Anthony said. "You got me all sweaty." He laughed.  
  
"Mmmmm."  
  
"You want to join me?"  
  
Even though Sören took a shower before Anthony got home, he'd worked up enough of a sweat from their romp that it was a good idea anyway. They brushed their teeth together, leaning on each other. As they got into the shower Sören found himself chuckling, and Anthony said, "Hm?"  
  
"I'm having second shower," Sören said as he reached for the shampoo. "It's like second breakfast."  
  
Anthony laughed too. "Oh god."  
  
The shower quickly turned sensual as they lathered each other, and admired each other's bodies. They held each other under the spray, kissing, hard cocks rubbing together.  
  
"I can't get enough of you," Sören rasped, kissing Anthony's neck.  
  
"Nor I of you." Anthony grabbed Sören's wrists and shoved him up against the wall, kissing Sören roughly, then kissing and licking his neck. Then Anthony got on his knees right in the shower and began to lick Sören's freshly clean cock, Sören moaning, trembling as Anthony's tongue worked its magic. When Anthony took Sören's cock into his mouth it was all Sören could do to not slide down the shower wall.  
  
Anthony sucked for just a couple of minutes, watching Sören react with heat in his eyes. Then he got up, carefully, and kissed Sören, and Sören could taste his precum as well as the minty toothpaste. Anthony turned off the water, and took Sören's hands, leading him out of the shower. They toweled each other off, continuing to tease with sensual rubbing of the towel, and then Anthony pulled Sören close, their hard cocks together again, stealing a kiss before they climbed back into bed. They quickly got into a sixty-nine, laying at each other's sides, Sören groaning as Anthony resumed sucking his cock, before Sören swallowed Anthony's cock down, lavishing the same love onto him.  
  
They sucked languidly, savoring the sensual pleasure and the closeness. Their hands slid over each other's damp flesh as their mouths worked, and at last Anthony's fingers found their way into Sören, sucking harder as his fingers thrust in and out, rubbing and strumming that place inside him. Sören followed suit, fingering Anthony, sucking faster, not able to keep from rolling his hips, gently fucking Anthony's mouth, fucking himself on Anthony's fingers. And then a few minutes later Anthony's tongue was inside him again, Sören howling around Anthony's cock in his mouth before he returned the favor, also fucking Anthony with his tongue, lashing hard and fast inside him, cock throbbing at Anthony's moans. They ate each other like they were starving for it, and before Sören could come from his tongue, Anthony took Sören's cock back into his mouth and sucked him hard, devouring. Sören did the same, sucking Anthony with all-consuming hunger, aching to make him spill. When Sören felt himself ready to come, he grabbed Anthony's hand and squeezed, and Anthony gave an assuring "_mmmmmm_," and a few seconds later Sören came, crying out around Anthony's cock in his mouth, rewarded by Anthony coming with him, moaning as he drank down Sören's seed, Sören swallowing all that Anthony had to give.  
  
They lay there for a moment, dazed. Anthony licked Sören clean, giving him aftershocks, and Sören gasped and patted Anthony off him. "Sensitive," he said.  
  
They sat up and kissed - Sören loved the lingering taste of them together. They sank down onto the pillows, legs tangling, holding each other, and Anthony reached to turn off the light, leaving them in the glow of the nightlight and the view of the Thames and London lit up through the panoramic window. They lay there looking at each other; Anthony pet Sören's curls, stroked his face, smiling adoringly.  
  
"I love you, you know," Anthony said.  
  
"I know." Now it was Sören's turn to kiss the tip of Anthony's nose. "I love you too."  
  
"I love you so much. More than I can say."  
  
"But do you love me more than you love... second breakfast?"  
  
Anthony rolled his eyes and then he chuckled. "Is that what we're calling it now?"  
  
Sören snorted. "No, that was sixty-ninesies."  
  
Anthony lost it, sputtering and doubling over, and Sören laughed too, pleased that Anthony appreciated his humor.  
  
"So I take it you've read Tolkien," Sören said.  
  
"Just the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy. I haven't read any of his other works."  
  
"Neither have I." Sören sighed, thinking of his cousin. "My cousin Ari is a Tolkien fanatic. He writes fanfic and everything. He's always after me to read, ah. What's that called. Um." His brain was tired and he grasped for it, and drew a blank, but it sounded sort of like... "The Milli Vanilli."  
  
Anthony facepalmed. "_The Silmarillion._" Anthony shook with laughter again. "Dammit, Sören..."  
  
"Right." Sören couldn't resist being a troll now. "The Vitameatavegamin."  
  
Anthony lost it again. Sören loved making him laugh.  
  
When Anthony calmed down, Sören said, "So, já, that. I haven't read that."  
  
"Maybe we should read it together, someday. If we ever have time."  
  
They came closer, and Sören rested his head on Anthony's shoulder, Anthony continuing to pet his curls, rocking him. Though the shower and the sex did a lot to relax Sören and he was tired enough to want to go right to sleep, his mind recalled the conversation with Daly again... and then it hit Sören, and he started shaking with silent laughter, that finally bubbled up out of him in a hysterical gigglefit.  
  
"What?" Anthony asked.  
  
"I've been away from Iceland for two years... and I still can't stop eating shark."  
  
It took Anthony a moment and then he lost it even harder, laughing so hard he cried. Sören laughed with him. It felt so good to laugh like this, together. It was these little moments that made their relationship what it was, more than anything else.  
  
When they calmed down again, they snuggled, nuzzled. Sören yawned and Anthony patted him.  
  
"Sweet dreams, my love," Anthony said, kissing Sören's brow.  
  
Sören gave a sleepy smile and kissed his cheek. "You too when you get there."  
  
"You are my dream."


	20. All That Glitters

It was Friday, June fifteenth, and once again time for Anthony's monthly night out with his friends - occasionally he went out for a drink after work, but didn't stay terribly long; this was his chance to catch up, insofar as these people had anything going on to catch up to. Despite Anthony telling Sören they might "grow on him", Sören had known them since February and it was now June and he still hadn't warmed up. He doubted he was going to. He didn't understand what Anthony saw in them, though Lawrence was the most tolerable of the group. Nonetheless, Anthony wanted Sören to come along, so Sören did it because he loved Anthony.  
  
Tonight they were meeting at an upmarket restaurant where a suit and tie was de rigueur. Sören did not own a suit or a tie; he and Anthony were of a similar size so Anthony let Sören borrow one of his suits, picking out pinstripe for Sören while he went with solid charcoal grey for himself. As Anthony tied Sören's tie, he smiled at him.  
  
"I know it's not your style but you look very nice," Anthony said when the tie was finished.  
  
Sören made a face in the bathroom mirror. Anthony laughed and kissed the tip of Sören's nose.  
  
"I mean, it looks good on _you_," Sören said. "I like a suit on a man. But that's a case of opposites attract for me. Cos I just..." Sören made a vague hand gesture and made a face again. "Feel like I'm doing a very bad drag performance, or something."  
  
"Well, it's only for a few hours," Anthony said. "Then we'll come home and I'll... get you out of that."  
  
Sören laughed.  
  
"Here, I've got something else you can wear that will make it worth your while." Anthony made the gesture for Sören to follow. Sören wondered if Anthony was going to produce a pair of cufflinks, which wouldn't really have helped... and then Anthony got out the buttplug. Sören laughed harder, and enthusiastically took down his trousers and the lacy black thong he was wearing underneath. Anthony applied lube and began kissing Sören's neck as he pushed the plug inside, which made Sören's cock stir, wishing Anthony would skip the whole damn outing and just agree to stay in and fuck him senseless.  
  
Though Anthony had the remote control for the plug, he didn't turn it on in the car. When Anthony saw Sören looking at the remote control, then giving him an expectant look, Anthony said, "I didn't want you to walk in there obviously hard, so I'm waiting."  
  
Jack was the one with the reservation, and once they arrived at the restaurant they were promptly escorted to the table, where Jack, Trisha, Vincente, and Lawrence were all waiting. "Steve's running a little late," Jack said as they sat down.  
  
"Of course he is," Anthony snarked. "Well..." He passed a menu to Sören, before looking at one himself. "Might as well not wait."  
  
"I see you tamed the wild boy," Trisha said to Anthony.  
  
"Just for tonight," Anthony said.  
  
Trisha's eyes raked Sören. "Nice. Very nice."  
  
Sören didn't like Trisha, and he didn't like the way she was looking at him like he was being offered for dinner, but he gave a thin smile and decided to repay a compliment with a compliment. "You look nice too." That wasn't a lie; Trisha was pretty, even if she would never be Sören's type with her attitude. Tonight she was wearing a black trapeze dress, short sleeves, a sailor neckline with a long bow in front.  
  
"Thanks, this is vintage Yves Saint Laurent for Dior," Trisha said.  
  
Sören fought the urge to chew the ice in his ice water. He didn't have a problem with _haute_ fashion per se - as an artist, he could appreciate the art of fashion design - but he didn't see why she needed to announce it like that. It made Sören feel even more like he was out of his element.  
  
That feeling intensified as he looked at the menu. Everything was at least sixty to a hundred quid, if not more. There was no way Sören would eat at a place like this left to his own devices, even though he wasn't hurting much for money as a neurosurgeon. He recalled his childhood and teenage years in Akureyri, where dinner was potatoes or French toast if his aunt was too drunk to cook for them... if there was anything in the house. He thought about the homeless he saw regularly in London, and felt a strange flare of anger.  
  
Steve got in just as the waiter came over to take orders. "Hey, sorry I'm late," Steve said as he took a seat. He waved off the waiter. "Come back in five minutes?"  
  
Anthony shot him an annoyed look as Steve grabbed a menu, but said nothing.  
  
When Steve was ready to order, the waiter was flagged and came back. Sören decided to have what Anthony was having, steak and seafood, to make it easier. Anthony was paying for both of them, because he was old-fashioned that way, and had told Sören beforehand to get whatever he wanted, but Sören still felt a twinge of guilt even as he knew the cost of their meals was trivial to Anthony. Seeming to sense his discomfort, Anthony put an arm around Sören, reassuring.  
  
Then with a little knowing glance at Sören, Anthony discretely turned the vibe on the lowest setting. Sören fought back a grin as the vibe began purring away inside him. Anthony's foot slid under the table to play with his.  
  
"I have an announcement to make," Trisha said, looking at Vincente, who was sitting next to her.  
  
"I do too," Jack said, "but ladies first."  
  
"OK." Trisha cleared her throat. "Vincente and I are dating."  
  
Jack, Anthony and Lawrence gave polite little golf claps; Steve gave a wolf whistle, which made Trisha roll her eyes.  
  
"It's about time the two of you got together," Lawrence said.  
  
Trisha nodded. "Well, you know, I was with Charles. And Vincente played the field, I didn't think he'd be interested in committing. But after Charles and I broke up last month, he offered to take me out for some drinks to get my mind off things, and..." She grinned, blushing fiercely.  
  
"Congratulations," Anthony said.  
  
Sören had a feeling Trisha was going to be the one to call the shots in the relationship, and he wondered how long an Italian man would put up with that. He wondered if the friend group was going to be split if Trisha and Vincente broke up. On the other hand, Lawrence's comment suggested something had been brewing with them for awhile...  
  
"We'll be moving to a new flat together next month," Trisha said, "and you guys are all invited to the housewarming party."  
  
"Where are you guys moving to?" Lawrence said.  
  
"Kingston," Trisha said. "We'll be a couple blocks away from you, Anthony!"  
  
Sören began to chew the ice in his ice water. The very last thing he wanted was Trisha and Vincente as regular guests in their flat.  
  
"We'll see what our schedules are like," Anthony said. "Sören works crazy hours at National and spending time with him is a priority."  
  
Sören reached under the table and squeezed Anthony's knee in thanks. Anthony reached and squeezed Sören's knee in return, and then his hand slid up Sören's thigh, making Sören's cock twinge with desire. He turned the vibe up a little higher.  
  
"That's fair," Trisha said.  
  
And then Vincente finally spoke. "We might be pretty busy ourselves," he said, leering at Trisha, who turned pink and giggled, giving him a swat.  
  
"Anyway," Trisha said, "the party's happening on July seventh, so that gives plenty of time to schedule time off, I hope." She gave Sören a pointed look.  
  
That was in three weeks, though Sören had next weekend off, so he was iffy about asking for another full weekend two weeks after the last one, and the idea of going to work on Sunday after a Saturday night with Anthony's friends didn't appeal to him. "I'll see what I can do," Sören said, not wanting to make any promises.  
  
Then Steve spoke up. "So you're still working for the NHS, huh?" Steve raised an eyebrow, with a smug little smirk. "When are you going into private practice?"  
  
Sören blinked. "I... I'm not." He pursed his lips. "For starters, the NHS is sponsoring my visa. But also, I come from a country where we have universal healthcare and I think this is important -"  
  
Anthony gently elbowed Sören and flagged the waiter. "Can we have more ice water, please? And a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc?" Anthony began to trace letters on Sören's thigh - S, T, E, V, E, I, S, A, T, O, R, Y. Sören tried not to make a face, and traced back O and K on Anthony's knee.  
  
"You had an announcement?" Anthony asked Jack.  
  
Jack nodded. "Well, it's more like an invitation. Now that it's summertime, it's time to make good use of the yacht I bought this past winter. So I'd like to have a yacht party. Sometime in July... late July, maybe, to accommodate scheduling for Trisha's party."  
  
"Oh, brilliant," Trisha said. "Some of my favorite childhood memories are going on Papa's yacht..."  
  
Sören chewed the ice in his ice water again, not caring about the strange look Jack gave him. Trisha, of the trips to Dior when she was fourteen, going on a yacht as a child. Sören was wearing neighbors' castoffs at fourteen and never did more than take trips in his aunt's clunky car as a kid, worrying about her driving drunk.  
  
"I've never been on a yacht," Anthony volunteered.  
  
"_Really._" Trisha gave him an incredulous look.  
  
"My parents had money but not your kind of money," Anthony said, and then he informed Sören, "Trisha's grandfather is an earl."  
  
That meant absolutely nothing to Sören. "Jæja, my family was... like... nobility or something in Norway, before they came to Iceland, six or seven centuries ago. We don't have any of that in Iceland, people are just people."  
  
"It's a very different world here," Trisha said.  
  
_No shit._ Sören tried to not give her a look.  
  
"And Papa is rather scandalized by Vincente," Trisha went on. "Doesn't matter that he comes from a good family from Naples, he doesn't have the pedigree Charles does. I don't see why he can't just be happy that I'm happy."  
  
"Exactly," Jack said. "It's not like you're dating a pauper."  
  
"Right? He may be new money, but Vincente does very well for himself."  
  
Not for the first time, Sören wondered how Anthony's friends would receive him if he wasn't a neurosurgeon, but a full-time artist, living hand-to-mouth, struggling from painting to painting, maybe working as something like a barista to make ends meet. He found himself very annoyed, and was grateful when the food came a few minutes later, giving him something else to concentrate on. He spent the rest of the evening trying to tune them out, aided by Anthony playing with the remote control so the vibe sped up and then slowed down, teasing him, reminding him of the passion that awaited when they got home.  
  
Sören needed a shower when they got home, even though he had showered several hours ago when he got back from National. He turned the water as hot as he could stand it and just stood under the water for a few minutes, decompressing, taking deep breaths.  
  
Anthony quietly joined him, just holding him at first. Anthony lathered Sören slowly, sensually, and his touch, the way he kissed Sören's neck as his hands worked their magic, helped Sören to relax, at last melting to him. He lathered Anthony in turn, and as they rinsed off they kissed, cock rubbing cock, Sören's stress burned away and replaced by fierce, hungry need.  
  
Anthony lay on his back and gave himself to Sören first, and Sören took him hard, with fast, furious, savage thrusts. Anthony reached for the plug again and Sören slowed down so Anthony could push the plug inside him; when Anthony turned on the vibe they kissed and Sören kept the pace slow for a moment as their foreheads met, noses rubbing, breathing each other's breath. Then Sören grabbed Anthony's legs, putting them around his waist, and pounded away, showing no mercy, fucking even harder as Anthony scratched him, moaning louder and louder. Thrusting into Anthony with the vibe buzzing inside him was delicious, his cock and prostate pleasured at the same time, and when Anthony was right on that edge he turned the vibe as high as it could go, driving Sören to that edge with him, every thrust threatening to undo Sören first. When Sören leaned down and bit Anthony's shoulder, Anthony came hard, and Sören followed him into orgasm, giving a hoarse shout as he spent into the channel pulsing around him.  
  
They snuggled, kissing, and then Anthony collected some of the seed he'd shot onto himself and stuck his fingers in Sören's mouth, feeding it to him. That got Sören going again, and when they kissed again, this time harder, Sören was ready for a second round. Anthony pulled out the plug and patted his shoulders; Sören sat on Anthony's face and bounced up and down on Anthony's tongue, licking hungrily inside him, readying him for more. When Sören had his fill he slid back down, straddling Anthony's hips, and poured lube over his cock. They both cried out when Anthony was all the way inside, and then Sören rode Anthony's cock as hard as he had fucked him, Anthony grabbing Sören's hips and slamming into him, giving Sören a wild ride. Sören rode and rode, feeling like Anthony driving into him was driving away any doubts Sören had in the presence of his friends, that here and now it was just them, needing each other, wanting each other. When Anthony tugged Sören's nipple rings, Sören climaxed, screaming his name as his orgasm overtook him, and Anthony came a few seconds later, calling out Sören's name in response.  
  
Sören fell asleep soon after. In the middle of the night he woke to use the bathroom and when he climbed back in bed Anthony tangled up with him, holding him tighter than before, making content noises with Sören back against him. The sleepy smile Anthony gave in the glow of the nightlight went straight to Sören's heart, planting a tender little kiss on his brow before he cuddled up and went back to sleep.  
  
Despite the good sex and the nice cuddling, Sören was troubled as he got ready for work early on Saturday morning, while it was still dark outside. He had enough distraction from his job to not ruminate too much during the day, but when his shift was over and Anthony came to pick him up, the dark mood came back, and Anthony picked up on it right away.  
  
"What is it?" Anthony asked, as Sören stared out the window.  
  
Sören shrugged. He turned to look at Anthony, who glanced at him before his eyes went back on the road. "I felt very out of sorts last night."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"It's..." Sören exhaled sharply. "It's bad enough that they're _your_ friends and I feel like I'm just there as 'Anthony's boyfriend', I'm not there in my own right, they're not my friends too. It's worse knowing that if I wasn't your boyfriend, I was just some random guy... I wouldn't be welcome. Cos I mean... I have nothing in common with them. I feel completely... alien."  
  
"Well, you are a professional yourself," Anthony said. "Your income as a neurosurgeon is nothing to sneeze at."  
  
Sören raised an eyebrow. As brilliant and observant as Anthony was, he seemed to be missing the point here. "That's an income I've only had for the last couple years, and I still don't make as much as your friends do. More to the point, I _shouldn't_. A doctor is a public servant. I hear about these doctors in the States getting rich, owning yachts and more than one vacation home, while very sick people die because they can't afford medical care, and that disgusts me. That kind of shit is why I don't go private sector - we're not anywhere near as bad as the States, but still..."  
  
"Yeah, I'm sorry about Steve -"  
  
"I know I've said this before, but I don't get it. I really don't. You don't have the same values he does - you're not a Tory, you've taken some cases pro bono if it's a good cause and the defendant is in need. Friends don't have to have everything in common but when there's such a fundamental disconnect of values -"  
  
"Steve's known me since I was at uni with my diploma conversion. It's the history."  
  
Sören shrugged again. "I still don't get it. But... back to what I was saying. Your friends come from money. In Trisha's case she comes from _old money_. I come from nothing."  
  
"Lawrence grew up in council housing."  
  
"OK, but he seems comfortable enough with the life he has now, and being around people who..." Sören's voice trailed off. "It was just really... conspicuous? I guess is the word? Last night, moreso than other times we've gone out with them. I felt even more like I just don't belong there."  
  
"I'm sorry," Anthony said, with a small frown and a furrow of his brow. "I mean, they wouldn't invite you if they hated you..."  
  
Sören wondered if he'd be invited at all if he wasn't another professional, if he was working-class or a starving artist, but he kept that thought to himself. Sören just sighed.  
  
The rest of the ride was spent in awkward silence; Anthony put on music and Sören attempted to relax to the smooth sounds of John Coltrane. Finally as they pulled in the parking space, Anthony lingered behind the wheel. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel more..." Anthony made a vague hand gesture. "Comfortable around them?" He gave Sören a pleading look. "They've been a part of my life for years and, well." He looked down, brow furrowed again. "I'm sure Mum told you this, but friends haven't exactly been easy for me to come by over the years."  
  
Sören swallowed; he sympathized with that. Sören himself didn't make friends easily, he had been a loner in his younger years, and had only casual friends in the club scene as an adult. Sören felt for the hurt boy inside Anthony who just wanted friends, just wanted to be _liked_, but he felt like Anthony's friends didn't really like him for him, rather only a certain image of him. He felt like Anthony deserved better. Much better.  
  
"I don't know that there's anything that you can do," Sören said. "Whether or not they like me, it's... we come from very different worlds. I wore hand-me-downs and sometimes went hungry, growing up. I've never had the kind of luxury your friends have. I feel like a fish out of water."  
  
When they got inside, Anthony stopped in his tracks. Sören also stopped, and then Anthony took a few paces and gave him a tight hug.  
  
"I'm sorry you went through that." Anthony smoothed the curls that had escaped from Sören's man bun for work and pulled Sören's head onto his shoulder, petting him. He kissed the top of Sören's head. "You deserve nice things."  
  
"Well..." Sören patted him. "You are a nice thing." Sören picked his head up, and they kissed.  
  
_You're too nice for them._ But Sören didn't say it aloud, understanding Anthony wasn't just going to up and get rid of the only friends he had, not unless they actually did something to Sören, and so far Sören just felt uncomfortable with the culture clash, it wasn't like they had done anything personally to him. Wanting a distraction, he took Anthony's hands and pulled him along into the kitchen to put on tea.  
  
  
_  
  
  
The following weekend, on Saturday June twenty-third, Anthony drove Sören out to his parents' in Blackheath. Before Sören could get out of the Audi, Anthony lingered at the wheel and said, "I have something for you."  
  
Sören paused. Anthony reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box from a jeweler. He handed it to Sören, who took it hesitantly; Sören opened the box and inside was a genuine Rolex watch, white gold. Sören gasped and almost dropped it.  
  
Anthony took Sören's left wrist and put the watch on him, and then met Sören's eyes. "I want you to have something nice. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable in the presence of money."  
  
Sören teared up, and he hugged Anthony tight. At the same time, he had mixed feelings about the gift - he knew Anthony had spent at least several thousand quid on this, if not more, and he was self-conscious about Anthony spending that kind of money on him, even though he knew Anthony was doing it because he wanted to. It felt shamefully ostentatious. Sören once again thought about the homeless he saw around London, when he now had something on his wrist that could pay for someone's housing for at least half a year.  
  
And Sören wasn't a watch person - he had clocks at work, he could check the time on his cell phone if he otherwise needed to know the time, and as someone who performed surgery several times a week and frequently washed his hands, a watch was more of a hindrance than a help.  
  
As much as Sören wanted to be gracious about the gift - and he was genuinely touched by the sentiment of it, Anthony wanting to make up for Sören's life of privation somehow - he also wondered if Anthony had considered how impractical the watch actually was, and if Anthony seemed to think the watch would somehow fix the rift between his friends and Sören, like throwing money would solve the problem, when the problem was far deeper than that. And giving it to Sören before they were set to spend a weekend at his parents suggested Anthony thought Sören was uncomfortable in the presence of all rich people - but Sören felt at home with Anthony's parents; again, it was the attitude of Anthony's friends more than just the fact that they had money.  
  
And Sören hated feeling like that, his reaction to the watch so complicated, instead of just being happy. He felt a twinge of guilt as Anthony held him, and when they pulled apart, Sören said, "I don't feel awkward around your parents, just so you know."  
  
"That's good. They love you." Anthony smiled and stroked Sören's cheek. "I still wanted -"  
  
Sören put a finger to Anthony's lips and swallowed hard. "I know."


	21. Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

It happened that Sören had the entire weekend of July twenty-first and twenty-second off... starting with the night of Friday, July twentieth, which was when Jack was throwing his yacht party. Sören had barely made it through Trisha and Vincente's housewarming earlier that month, and was not looking forward to coming home from a long week at National just to go back out and deal with Anthony's friends on a yacht.  
  
But, Anthony had never been on a yacht and was looking forward to it, and Sören didn't want to disappoint him. And the night before, on Thursday, as Sören was getting ready for an overnight shift, Anthony said, "How would you like to go to Brighton this weekend? Leave Saturday morning, come back Sunday night."  
  
Anthony seemed to understand the impending yacht party wasn't Sören's cup of tea, and this was his way of making it better, a treat after the party, a chance for the introverted Sören to decompress. Sören nodded and said, "I'd like that a lot."  
  
So Sören couldn't be too grudging about it, even though he had to borrow a suit and tie from Anthony again. And he certainly liked looking at Anthony, tonight wearing a black suit with a waistcoat, white shirt and black tie. Anthony let Sören wear the tie he wore the most often - the navy Armani tie Sören had gifted him for Christmas, going with a navy pinstripe suit.  
  
Sören added the Rolex, which he only wore on special occasions, explaining to Anthony that he couldn't wear a watch when performing surgery and it got in the way with having to wash his hands so often at work. But even more than that, as Sören put it on, it made him uncomfortable. He knew Anthony had gotten it with the loving, kind intent to give him a luxury he'd never had, and try to help him feel more at ease around his rich friends, but the Rolex just seemed to emphasize the difference in their backgrounds. Most of the time, when it was just Sören and Anthony, he could forget about it and just enjoy Anthony's companionship. Wearing the watch was an in-your-face reminder, and made Sören feel like he'd stepped into a world where he didn't belong.  
  
He tried to ignore that feeling now, as Anthony gave him an admiring look. As much as Sören really hated wearing a suit and tie, he did like the effect it had on Anthony, appreciating the contrast between Sören looking dapper dressed up, and his wild, untamed curls... knowing intimately the ink and piercings underneath the suit.  
  
"You're missing something," Anthony said.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
Anthony got out the buttplug. Sören laughed, and then yanked down his trousers and the silky blue thong underneath. His laughter became a moan as Anthony fingered him a little before pushing the plug inside. Once Sören's underwear and trousers were back up, Anthony pulled Sören into his arms and gave him a deep, hungry kiss... and turned on the vibe to tease him. Sören moaned into the kiss and Anthony groaned, kissing him deeper, harder, hands sliding to possessively cup and rub Sören's ass. He gave Sören's ass a little smack before he turned the vibe off.  
  
Jack hadn't just invited Anthony, Sören, Trisha, Vincente, and Lawrence to the yacht party, but there were at least thirty other people on the yacht when Sören and Anthony boarded. The yacht had a swimming pool, which some of the guests were utilizing, and a large "ballroom" area where Sören and Anthony were directed to, where a DJ was working even though hardly anybody was dancing, most people were standing around schmoozing in small groups, some were raiding a banquet area set up with hors d'oeuvres. Jack was off in a corner with a woman on each arm, one blonde, one brunette, and when he saw Sören and Anthony he disappeared for a moment, heading in the direction of the bar, and then made a beeline for them, a glass of champagne in each hand, which he handed to them.  
  
"Anthony! Sören! Great to see you here," Jack said.  
  
"Thank you for having us." Anthony looked around. "Did you have to invite Cary Paulson."  
  
"Oh, I know he hates you but there's plenty of room on this yacht, you can keep a wide berth of each other." Jack patted Anthony's shoulder. "Please excuse me, I have to get back to the ladies." With that, he sauntered back over to the blonde and brunette he was chatting up, who were dancing with each other suggestively.  
  
"Who's Cary Paulson?" Sören asked, curious.  
  
"Crown Prosecution." Anthony discretely gestured to a man who looked late thirties or early forties, blond greying at the temples and Hollywood handsome, flirting with a blonde woman. "He's lost to me in court and he has a real bug up his arse about it." Anthony sipped at the champagne Jack gave him.  
  
Sören was about to do the same, and then he hesitated. He remembered partying in Reykjavik, accepting a drink handed to him by a stranger that turned out to have been spiked with rohypnol. He knew logically that he was safe with Anthony - that the drink Jack gave him very likely had nothing in it, and if on the tiny chance it did, Anthony wouldn't let other people touch him and wouldn't take advantage of Sören. But Sören froze anyway, and Anthony saw the deer-in-the-headlights look on Sören's face as he held the drink and looked around for a convenient receptacle to dispose of it.  
  
"Here," Anthony said, taking the champagne from Sören. He drank it, and then he put an arm around Sören and led him to the bar. "We can get a fresh one, where you watch the bartender pour it."  
  
Sören kissed his cheek, tears burning his eyes, incredibly grateful for Anthony's understanding and care.  
  
After having a glass of champagne, Sören relaxed a little, even though they were as far as he could tell the only gay couple - apart from the women Jack was flirting with who might have been bisexual lovers or on their way to becoming such. Then, just as Sören was hating this a bit less, Trisha and Vincente came over to make small talk with Anthony, and then Lawrence and his girlfriend Candace came over also to say hello, and Sören shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking down at the floor, feeling awkward and wanting to go home.  
  
Jack and his lady friends finally came over, and Jack proceeded to give Anthony, Sören, Lawrence, Candace, Trisha and Vincente the tour of the yacht. The view from the upper deck was lovely, and when Jack and his ladies, Lawrence, Candace, Trisha and Vincente went back to the ballroom, Anthony and Sören stayed on the upper deck, arm in arm, leaning on each other. After a few minutes alone they shared a kiss, and Anthony turned on the vibe, smiling wickedly as Sören moaned.  
  
They watched the sunset on the water, which put them in an amorous mood, kissing, hands roaming. Sören no longer hated this - at least not right now. He felt touched that Anthony was making this less about his friends and more about them, a place where they could be romantic and sensual together. He lost himself in the moment, the blazing sunset and the fiery passion within him.  
  
Before they could go too far Anthony took Sören's hand and said, "We should attempt to be sociable." Sören grumbled under his breath. Once they got back in the ballroom, Sören had a second glass of champagne and then they hit the dance floor, and Sören finally managed to enjoy himself, any self-consciousness about them being the only gay couple, or Sören feeling out of his element, soothed away by the alcohol and the playfulness of dancing with Anthony, the two of them making dorks of themselves and not caring. Trisha dragged Vincente out onto the dance floor and their dancing was horrible, but they managed to laugh at themselves and Sören managed to smile at them genuinely for once.  
  
Sören tried not to moan as Anthony turned up the vibe inside him.  
  
After a few songs they ended up group dancing with Trisha, Vincente, Lawrence and Candace, and then Candace had dry heaves, a combination of alcohol and moving around with the gentle rocking of the boat. Anthony, Sören and Lawrence helped Candace out to the lower deck for some air. When Candace had calmed down some, Anthony led Sören back up to the upper deck. They found a more secluded spot and Anthony turned the vibe higher as they made out feverishly. Between kisses Anthony looked around - they were alone up here - and finally Anthony rasped in Sören's ear, "I want you." He started to undo his trousers.  
  
"Here? Now?" Sören felt a kinky little thrill - even though they were alone up here, anyone could walk in on them anytime.  
  
"Now," Anthony said, and kissed Sören again. "But only if you want to."  
  
Sören guided Anthony's hand to the hard bulge in his own trousers. Soon their trousers and underwear pooled down and Anthony took the plug out of Sören's ass and bent him over, taking him hard and fast from behind, grabbing Sören's curls as he plowed. Sören loved it, holding onto the rails white-knuckled, rocking back at him, trying to keep his moans down as Anthony's cock hit that sweet spot in him again and again. The forbidden thrill of sex here where they could possibly be caught, and Sören reveling in his shameless wantonness, in heat for his lover, craving him like this, added to the pleasure, as did the desperate little whines Sören heard himself make, answered by Anthony's deeper groans and growls, the urgent slap of their hips. When Anthony reached for Sören's cock, stroking it in time with his savage, punishing thrusts, it didn't take long for Sören to come, and Sören came hard, watching his seed shoot over the rails into the water. Anthony came a few seconds later, trembling against Sören as he gasped for breath; Sören moaned at the feel of Anthony coming inside him.  
  
Sören rose up and Anthony tilted Sören's face to his, kissing him passionately, a promise of more later. In keeping with that promise Anthony shoved the plug back in Sören's cum-filled ass and once Sören was dressed, Anthony turned the plug on again. Sören felt like he was going out of his mind, wanting more as the plug purred at his sensitized prostate, not able to take his eyes off of Anthony who looked so dapper and delicious in his suit, nonetheless wanting Anthony out of the suit as quickly as possible.  
  
They went back to the ballroom and grazed on hors d'oeuvres and then Anthony made the rounds of goodbyes to his friends. Just as they were leaving the yacht, Anthony turned to Sören and whispered in his ear, "I wanted to come to this party so I could fuck you on the boat."  
  
When they got to the Audi, Sören dragged Anthony around to the back seat, shoved him in, and climbed on him. Sören rode his cock right there in the marina parking lot, bouncing madly. Anthony grabbed the tie around Sören's neck like it was a leash, kissing him fiercely, and soon he was kissing and nibbling Sören's neck, nipping hard enough to leave love bites. Sören came even harder this time, making a mess on Anthony's suit, and after Anthony came inside Sören, crying out his name, he laughed, giving Sören little kisses, rocking him.  
  
They didn't stop there. When they got home they spent the next few hours flip-fucking, taking turns inside each other in different positions, working up a sweat, until they were spent.  
  
Snuggling together, dozing off, Sören had to admit he'd had fun despite Anthony's friends, and putting up with them had been a small price to pay for an evening of wild, debauched sex.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören is in the body that is not his own again, impossibly tall, with the flood of dark hair. He travels out to see his brother Anthony, a chaste embrace in front of Anthony's wife - who nonetheless knows about them and approves - and Anthony's wife's parents, who do not know they are anything more than brothers.  
  
Today Sören is taken out to the yard of swan boats owned by Anthony's father-in-law. They sail one, and Sören's legs are unsteady at first; he leans on Anthony, which just heightens the sexual tension between them. As the gold light of day mingles with the silver light of evening, they steal a moment, not able to contain themselves any longer, kissing passionately. What is meant to be a few kisses quickly becomes opening robes, pulling down breeches, Anthony taking Sören right there on the deck, when his in-laws could come up and catch them at any time. The danger, and that feeling of being so lost in lust for each other, so _wanton_, just makes the sex even more delicious, with Sören coming all over the deck and rails, as well as his seed shooting into the sea.  
  
"You made such a mess," Anthony teases. "You should clean it."  
  
Sören laps up the seed spilled over the deck, and kissing Anthony with it is even more debauched and depraved than what they just did, brother to brother. Sören wants more, but Anthony makes him wait, through getting the boat back in its harbor, then the obligatory meal with the wife and the in-laws; Anthony gropes him under the table, sharpening Sören's desire to a razor edge.  
  
Making Sören wait gets him right where Anthony wants him, and when Sören meets him in his chambers later Sören rides him like never before. Then he at last takes Anthony, fucking him good and hard for making him wait so long...  
  
They sleep most of the day in each other's arms, and then Anthony manages to take Sören on the boat again just the two of them, a little jaunt around the harbor. They make love to climax after climax, something about the peace of the water and the play of the light putting them in the mood to love each other. At last, in the silver glow and starlight, Anthony holds Sören close and the depth of their feelings breaks them, crying in each other's arms.  
  
"I wish you and me and our other brother could just be together openly. No hiding," Sören says. "No pretending."  
  
"I know. So do I." Anthony kisses Sören's brow.  
  
Sören pets the silver-gold hair, plays with it, wipes his tears with it. "Even if we cannot live openly as lovers, know that I love you."  
  
"And I love you." Anthony takes Sören's hands. "Until the sea runs dry and all the stars fall, I will love you. Never doubt that." He strokes Sören's face, looks into his eyes, silver like the glowing sea. "And someday, somehow, we will find a way."  
  
  
_  
  
  
Despite being up late last night and being exhausted when the alarm woke them both up, Sören was nonetheless chipper, sated and aglow from the night before, looking forward to the trip to Brighton. He was even more enthusiastic about it when, after their shower, Anthony put the plug inside Sören, which felt delicious buzzing away when he was so sensitive from all the fucking the night before.  
  
It was a gorgeous sunny weekend, the sky a brilliant blue as they drove on the highway. Sören rolled the window down to feel the breeze, and sang along with the music on the car stereo; Anthony had on a selection of classic R&B, mostly from the 1970s and 1980s.  
  
When they got to the beach house, it was late morning, about to be early afternoon. Sören was in the mood to go to the beach, and after having done some research he'd heard there was a naturist beach out here. Anthony was a little shy about it - nudity was no big deal in Iceland, and Sören would never understand why Brits were so hung up about it - but he finally agreed. Sören took out the plug for the trip to the beach.  
  
By the time they got to the naturist beach, Anthony was beetroot. Sören got naked quickly, and Anthony took his clothes off more hesitantly.  
  
"You know, we don't have to do this if you really don't want to," Sören said.  
  
"No, I want to." Anthony met Sören's eyes. "I've just... never done this sort of thing before."  
  
They kissed, and Sören helped Anthony take off the rest of his clothing. When they were both naked they stood there for a moment, feasting their eyes on each other. Then Anthony quickly reached for the sunblock, since they were both fair-skinned and burned easily.  
  
Though they had to behave themselves on the beach, as public sex was frowned upon here, they nonetheless turned the sunblock application into a sensual experience, rubbing each other's bodies slowly, lovingly, breaking out into gooseflesh, nipples and cocks hardening beneath the other's touch.  
  
But then they just cuddled, holding each other on the blanket on the stony shore, basking in the pleasant warmth of the sun, smelling the salt air, looking out at the sparkling sea. To Sören there were few things nicer than being naked - primal, beautiful, innocent - here in this lovely place; Sören felt even more one with nature with his clothes off, and there was something downright _healing_ about the two of them taking turns cradling each other out here, wearing nothing but the sky.  
  
Sören felt so at peace that he dozed off a little, and woke to Anthony petting him. Sören decided he needed to wake up some more, and got up from the blanket to stretch. Then he put on his sandals and walked off the blanket, onto the stones.  
  
"Where are you going?" Anthony asked.  
  
"To take a dip."  
  
"Are you mad?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Sören resumed walking, and once he was at the shore he kicked off his sandals and waded in. The shock of the cold water at his ankles, then his calves, made him gasp - he could see why Anthony asked if he was mad, even on a day like today the sea wasn't terribly warm. But still he continued to push into the water, going up to the middle of his chest. The water felt invigorating rather than unpleasant, and the view of the waves shining in the sun was even better out here; the sea felt endless, infinite. He felt endless, infinite.  
  
Sören looked back at Anthony on the blanket, and then turned away to watch the waves again. Then a few minutes later he felt arms wrap around him from behind, a kiss on the back of his shoulder. Sören gasped and then he giggled as Anthony's arms tightened around him; he moaned as Anthony's fingers teased his hard nipples.  
  
"Christ, the water's cold." Anthony shivered against him.  
  
"It's good for you."  
  
"Your people think fermented fish is good for you, too."  
  
Sören leered over his shoulder. "You never complained about me eating shark before." He waggled his eyebrows.  
  
Anthony's laughter rang out, echoing over the water. He slapped Sören's ass underneath the waves. "You are a cheeky little thing."  
  
"_Takk._"  
  
They stole a kiss, and then Sören pulled out of Anthony's embrace, turned around, and faced him, so they could hold each other. They rested on each other's shoulders, rocking gently as the waves rolled. Sören melted into the water, feeling like he was being cleansed of the lingering miasma of the hard workweek, reborn in the cold, crisp water, safe in the arms of the man he loved. It was nice to just be able to _be_, here without a care in the world.  
  
Anthony felt it too. "We should go on vacation," he said.  
  
"Mmmm, that would be nice."  
  
They picked their heads up and their eyes met. "What do you think about a week holiday here, at the end of next month?"  
  
"Yes." Sören kissed him. "That sounds good."  
  
Anthony kissed him back. "Brilliant."  
  
They resumed leaning on each other, rocking together, where time just seemed to stop. When Anthony started shivering again, they came out of the water and went back to their blanket and the warm sun. Sören wrapped Anthony up in towels, and when he continued to shiver Sören just climbed on him and used his body heat, which got Anthony warm quickly.  
  
"If I didn't know better," Sören said, his fingers tracing lazy circles around a nipple, "you just wanted me to get on top of you like this." He knew that Anthony really had been cold, of course, and wasn't faking it.  
  
"What would make you say that?" Anthony gave him an innocent look, as he took Sören's free hand and guided it down to his cock, which was hard again.  
  
As soon as they got back to the beach house they fell on each other, kissing passionately, fiercely as they stumbled to the bed. Anthony climbed on, laying on his back, looking up at Sören expectantly. Sören got the lube and readied him with slick fingers, and Anthony reached for Sören's cock, guiding it to him. His breath hitched as Sören began to push inside, and when Sören bottomed out in him they breathed together, eyes locked, lost in the wonder of that first moment of connection.  
  
After some slow, teasing thrusts, Sören drove into him, Anthony's legs on his shoulders as he pounded away.  
  
"God, I fucking want you," Sören ground out, savoring the silken heat of Anthony around him, the beauty of Anthony underneath him, the ecstasy on his face, the deep moans as Sören claimed him.  
  
"I want you." Anthony's hands slid over Sören, down and then up. He played with Sören's hard, aching nipples, fingers rubbing and plucking them, and then when he tugged on the rings, that was Sören's cue to pound into him even harder, faster.  
  
A few minutes later Anthony came, calling out "Sören, _Sören_, oh _fuck_ I love you," as he spilled all over Sören's chest and stomach and his own. Sören gave a fierce cry as he erupted, his orgasm feeling as endless as the sea, contracting and contracting like the waves, his contractions so powerful they almost hurt. Sören's fingers and toes curled involuntarily and he made a deep, strangled groan as the pleasure throbbed and he rolled back and forth in Anthony's arms.  
  
They came hard enough to pass out. Sören woke to the sound of thunder, and the rain pelting the roof. Anthony continued to sleep, which made Sören smile, watching him. A little while later, when Sören began to pet Anthony, not able to help it - he looked so sweet and downright innocent asleep - Anthony woke up, and smiled at Sören shyly, lovingly. Sören rained kisses over his face and Anthony laughed softly, before his mouth met Sören's and then the kisses became less innocent, their tongues swirling, rubbing, tasting. Sören's cock rose and met Anthony's hard cock, grinding together as they kissed.  
  
Anthony rolled Sören onto his back, got the lube, and poured it into Sören. They continued to kiss and rub their cocks together as Anthony's fingers stroked inside him, and at last Anthony took him, his gaze holding Sören's as he slid in deeper and deeper. When Anthony was all the way in, Sören felt strangely vulnerable, like Anthony wasn't just inside his body but was also touching a place in his heart, his soul.  
  
They made love slowly at first, languidly, as the rain fell and thunder crashed outside. It had been sunny when they got in from the beach and they hadn't turned on the lights, and now the bedroom was dim from the stormy weather, but they could still see each other, playing in the shadows. Anthony's eyes were bright, feverish, filled with hunger as he kept his thrusts slow, fingers walking, brushing over Sören's body, kissing him here, licking him there. At last Sören pleaded, "fuck me... fuck me hard..." and with a deep breath Anthony gave in, his passion echoing the storm raging outside, fucking Sören in the furious rhythm of the rain beating down. Sören howled, sobbed, his nails raking Anthony hard enough to draw blood, who responded by biting him. Soon, they were both trembling, gasping, broken cries as loud as the thunder, needing to hold out just a little longer, to keep fucking, keep mating, keep feeling each other. And then they came together, screaming, kissing deeply.  
  
They tangled up together, and the storm died down. Anthony had a small, cryptic, Mona Lisa smile on his face, looking like he was far away. Sören stroked his cheek. "Penny for your thoughts."  
  
"Oh." Anthony laughed softly. "When I took a nap awhile ago, I just... had strange dreams, is all."  
  
Sören raised an eyebrow. He felt a little prickle at the back of his neck, a leaden feeling in his chest. "Strange how?" But he had the feeling he already knew.  
  
"Well..." Anthony exhaled sharply, and his eyes met Sören's. "You know how sometimes we, uh... pretend to be brothers?"  
  
Sören nodded solemnly. A chill went down his spine, his hair standing on end. _Here we go._  
  
"I dreamed about us as brothers. Making love on the beach. Except..." Anthony gave a nervous little laugh. "We were us, but we weren't... us. You looked... different. You had very long dark hair, but you were still you. And I was blond..."  
  
_Of course you were._ Sören felt like an alarm bell was sounding in his head. When he'd had the dreams before, he'd chalked it up to an overactive imagination. But they felt _real_, more real than his dreams usually did. And now Anthony was having them too. And they were in tune other ways - like how Sören knew something happened, that day in March, before he'd seen the news of the bomb threat at Lincoln's Inn.  
  
"It's not the first time I've dreamed of us like that, actually," Anthony said. "But this time, you came to visit me where I lived by the sea..."  
  
Sören sat up abruptly. Anthony gave him a look of panic. "Oh god. I told you it was strange," Anthony said. "I hope you don't think I'm -"  
  
Sören put a finger to Anthony's lips. He quickly got up from the bed, and went over to his duffel bag. He reached for the WaCom tablet, pulled it out, and sat back on the bed. He turned it on and went into his files.  
  
Anthony watched, waited, and then Sören pulled up a portrait he hadn't shown Anthony yet. It was of the black-haired brother laying on his back in the garden, the silver-gold brother inside him, holding him on a pearl-and-diamond leash. It was both similar to and different from the painting in their bedroom, of the two of the in the Blackheath garden. This one, on the tablet, was rendered in softer colors, with a hazy, dreamlike quality, and the garden had more exotic plants, like something out of a fantasy movie or novel. But it was no less debauched.  
  
"Did we look like this?" Sören showed him the portrait.  
  
Anthony gasped, his pupils blown wide. For a moment he couldn't say anything at all. Then he gave Sören a frightened, pleading look, then looked back at the tablet, then back at Sören, then back at the tablet.  
  
Then he found his voice. "_Fuck._"  
  
"Yes... that's... definitely what's going on here."  
  
Anthony laughed, facepalmed, and then he quickly sobered. He was shaking slightly, gooseflesh on his arms. "Sören," he whispered. "You..." Their eyes met.  
  
"I have dreams too," Sören said. "I didn't have the same dream as you when we napped this afternoon - I didn't dream at all, that I remember. But... we're dreaming about the same people. The same place." _The same time._  
  
"That's..." Anthony shook his head. He took a few slow, deep breaths. "Sören... I'm agnostic."  
  
"Hi Agnostic, I'm - "  
  
Anthony gave him a look and a swat, and then he grinned, laughing before he got serious again. "No. Seriously. I just..." He made a vague hand gesture. "I've never had cause to believe in anything. Never seemed like it made much sense. And yet..." He tapped the tablet. "I can't explain this."  
  
"I can't either."  
  
"I..." Anthony shivered. "Do you think all that past life stuff the Hindus and Buddhists believe... you think there's some truth to that?"  
  
Sören shrugged. "I don't know. That seems to be the most plausible answer to this but it still..." Sören shook his head. "Doesn't feel like all of it." It felt deeper, somehow.  
  
Anthony took the tablet, studied the painting some more, and then he put the tablet down, took Sören's hands and kissed them. "You really should show your work."  
  
Sören's face flushed and he grinned. He still didn't feel ready for that, but he basked in the warm glow of pride anyway.  
  
Then Anthony drew him into a tight hug. "If we were together... once before... I'm glad we found our way back to each other."  
  
"So am I." Sören got choked up, feeling comforted and unnerved all at once. Comforted, because what they had felt so _right_, like they were fated... like they were even made for each other, somehow. And unnerved, because this raised questions - Sören had been agnostic too, and now he didn't know what to believe, what was out there... and why they were here now, in this life, which implied a death. Sören closed his eyes and saw fire - the same fire that he'd had screaming nightmares about from the age of four onward, dying as he went up in flames...  
  
"My brother." Anthony looked into Sören's eyes adoringly, and they kissed. A sweet, tender kiss turned deep and sensual, hungry, kissing fiercely as they felt the gravity of their love, the depth of their bond, across lifetimes.  
  
Before they could get worked up again, Sören's stomach growled. Anthony laughed and he patted Sören. "The storm's died down enough where we can go into town and get something to eat."  
  
They got fish and chips and brought it back; the rain started up again just as they pulled in and they scrambled inside. "IIIIIIIII'm melllllting," Anthony said in a Wicked Witch voice.  
  
"Hi Melting."  
  
Anthony swatted Sören's ass before he closed the door behind them.  
  
They fed each other fish and chips on the couch and then before Sören could ask if Anthony wanted to watch something, Anthony put on the stereo, and the same playlist he had in the car that morning. "Rock With You" by Michael Jackson came on and Anthony grabbed Sören and began dancing with him around the living room, marching back and forth, dipping, twirling, then at last holding each other cheek to cheek, swaying, grinding up on each other.  
  
"I love you," Anthony said.  
  
"I love you too."  
  
"That Girl" by Stevie Wonder followed, and they sat on the couch, snuggling; Anthony began to rub Sören's head, massaging his scalp, and Sören sighed and leaned into his touch.  
  
Then came a song that Sören didn't recognize, "You Are In My System" by The System.  
  
_Day by day  
And night by night  
I see you in my mind  
It happens all the time  
You know my daydreams stop  
My heart beats on  
I can't take it anymore  
It's you I live for  
  
Oh baby  
You are in my system  
I just want you to know that  
Oh  
You're in my system  
Got me burnin' burnin' baby, oh  
You are in my system  
Oh  
You are in my system, system  
Don't you, don't you know that baby?_  
  
Sören started cackling.  
  
"What?" Anthony raised an eyebrow.  
  
"It sounds like he's singing..." Sören held up an index finger and waited for the next chorus, then Sören began to sing along.  
  
_Oh baby  
You are in my sista  
I just want you to know that  
Oh  
You're in my sista_  
  
Anthony facepalmed, laughing. "Oh god." Then Anthony opened his fingers and peered at Sören between them, before moving his hands away. "Well... you were definitely _in_ at least one of our sisters, if I recall correctly."  
  
"And our other brother."  
  
They looked at each other and then they collapsed into hysterics, doubling over, snorting and gasping. "I'm never going to unhear this now," Anthony said.  
  
Sören sang along again:  
  
_You are in my sista  
I just want you to know that  
Oh  
You're in my sista  
Got me burnin' I'm on fire baby  
You are in my sista  
Oh  
You are in my sista, sista  
Got me burnin' oh baby_


	22. Hunger

It was the evening of Wednesday July twenty-fifth. The first couple of days back from Brighton, the peaceful, easy feeling from the weekend away lingered and Sören was in a chipper mood at work. But now the stress and exhaustion was setting in, and feeling even more intense than usual because he'd been relaxed, and he was restless and itching for the promised holiday at the end of August. He badly needed an extended vacation.  
  
More than anything else, he wanted to take time out to be with Anthony. Sören was working overnight tonight, which was always difficult not just because they were shorter-staffed and things could get crazy, but he missed sleeping beside Anthony... missed the sleepy cuddles, the two of them holding each other, tangled up together, cozy and content.  
  
He missed Anthony enough that when he had a lull between patients, he decided to fire off a text around the time he knew Anthony would be going to bed - later than normal this week since Anthony had a difficult case he was working on.  
  
_I love you, Corn._  
  
A few minutes later, the cell phone chimed in his pocket. Sören took it out and smiled at Anthony's response:  
  
_I love you too, IKEA._  
  
Sören sent another text: _I wish we were snuggling right now._  
  
Anthony replied with: _Me too._  
  
Sören sighed and got back to work. The night wore on, and frequently his thoughts turned to Anthony, the ache for him getting stronger and stronger. Sören was feeling more and more tired, wanting desperately to just go home.  
  
He had an hour break at five on Thursday morning, and even as badly as he needed to get off his feet and zone out for awhile, the feeling of being on the verge of collapse was even more intense as he sat, every part of him hurting. He had no idea how he was going to make it through the next two hours he was scheduled - knowing two hours would likely become four, five, even six. It had happened before.  
  
Sören's eyes were heavy. His entire body hurt. He felt too tired to even go over to the coffee maker and fix himself a cup of coffee. He set the alarm on his cell phone to wake him up in a half-hour, and closed his eyes.  
  
He sensed someone coming into the break room, but was too tired to open his eyes and see who it was. He made a noise in a half-hearted attempt at greeting whoever it was. Then he heard the sound of shoes across the floor - brogues from the sound of it - and he felt a tap on his shoulder. Sören jumped, opened his eyes, and there he saw Anthony standing over him. Anthony smiled at Sören and held out a thermos.  
  
"Good morning, Brown Eyes." Anthony's free hand stroked Sören's face and rubbed his head.  
  
"Oh, _elskan._" Before Sören could take the thermos from Anthony, he reached out, wrapped his arms around Anthony's waist, and buried his face in Anthony's suit, making tired noises.  
  
Anthony reached over Sören to put the thermos of coffee down on the table, and then his arms were around Sören as well, petting and rocking him.  
  
Sören finally looked up. "It's early for you, já?" Five AM was usually when Anthony got up, never mind being fully dressed in his suit and tie and brogues, hair neatly combed and gelled, looking like he was on his way to work.  
  
"I wanted to come see you when I knew you were having your break," Anthony said, his arms tightening around Sören. "Made more sense to go to work after I'm done here."  
  
"Well, you look good." Sören always thought Anthony looked handsome; today he was wearing a black suit with a black waistcoat, a white shirt and the navy tie Sören had given him for Christmas.  
  
Anthony smiled, rubbed Sören's shoulder, and then he took a seat next to Sören at the table.  
  
"Did you even sleep?" Sören took the thermos of coffee - fixed the way he liked it - and took a sip.  
  
"I did." Anthony nodded. "But not well. Stress from the case but also..." Anthony stroked Sören's face again, skritched his beard. "I sleep better when you're in bed with me." He gave a shy little smile. "You're my blankey."  
  
Sören put the coffee down and threw his arms around Anthony again, laughing and crying a little, touched by those words and also hurting for him, feeling guilty that he wasn't there... feeling deeply loved, that Anthony missed him this much.  
  
They just held each other for a few minutes, no need for words. Then Anthony guided Sören's hands back to the thermos. "You need your caffeine," Anthony said.  
  
"God, you have no idea." Sören drank.  
  
"I think I have some idea. This is going to be one of those days when I need an IV drip."  
  
"When are you going to court for this guy?"  
  
"Tomorrow morning." Anthony made a face. "Can't be done with this soon enough."  
  
"And it's over tomorrow afternoon?"  
  
Anthony nodded solemnly. "I'll be returning to chambers around three, then going home at five."  
  
Sören made a mental note of that. He had to work overnight again Thursday into Friday, going home sometime late Friday morning or during Friday afternoon, depending on how busy it was and who else was on. Then he had off all of Saturday.  
  
Sören drank the rest of his coffee and then he returned to the fortress of Anthony's arms, the achy tension in his body soothed away as Anthony pet him. Sören felt a pang about working overnight again tomorrow, the night before Anthony was set to battle in court, but it couldn't be helped. And in the meantime, he felt overwhelming, wanting-to-cry-relief at Anthony showing up unexpectedly on his break, as if Anthony had sensed how much Sören needed this. Needed him.  
  
"I still can't believe you got up early to come over here," Sören said.  
  
"I had to." Anthony kissed the top of his head. He cupped Sören's chin in his hand and tilted Sören's face up to look into his eyes. His thumb began to trace Sören's lips; he gave a little groan, heat flaring in his eyes, when Sören started sucking his thumb.  
  
Sören wanted to suck something else, but there wasn't really much time for that. They went back to cuddling together, quiet and cozy, until the alarm on Sören's cell went off in his pocket. Sören swore under his breath in Icelandic as he took out the phone to shut off the alarm.  
  
"You have to go back?" Anthony asked, frowning.  
  
Sören nodded. "I'm sorry."  
  
"No, it's OK. I knew you only had an hour." Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "I hope it helped."  
  
"It did." Sören got up and stretched. He was still tired, but he didn't feel the bone-deep weariness of earlier; it was as if Anthony's presence gave him a little boost he needed to make it through the rest of his shift. Anthony got up too, and after Sören was done stretching, Anthony pulled him into a tight hug, raining kisses over his face. Sören giggled, feeling flushed and fluttery, and tweaked Anthony's nose. "I love you."  
  
"God, I love you, Sören." Anthony kissed Sören's brow. "So very much."  
  
Their mouths met, and as their tongues played together they both moaned into the kiss, craving more. But Sören really did have to get back on the clock, so they reluctantly pulled apart, and Sören gave Anthony a quick peck and Anthony gave Sören a little swat on the ass, then Anthony was off; Sören blew him a kiss and Anthony caught it.  
  
As Sören scrubbed in before his next patient, he was humming.  
  
  
_  
  
  
After working the overnight shift from Thursday into Friday and being kept well into Friday afternoon, Sören was dead on his feet. But as much as he wanted a shower and a nap, he wanted to see Anthony even more.  
  
Just before he left work, he took his satchel into the bathroom; he'd brought a change of underwear - a lacy red thong - and a bottle of lube with him, and the buttplug. He lubed up the plug, and pushed it inside. As he washed his hands and looked at himself in the mirror, he gave himself a mischievous grin and couldn't resist a sassy little butt wiggle as he headed out.  
  
Straight from work, he made his way to Garden Court Chambers, still in his scrubs, his hair still in its loose, messy bun. He fidgeted nervously in the waiting room until Diana Traynor came out, looking elegant in a dark navy pinstripe skirt suit, and once again Sören found himself looking at her legs and having the briefest twinge of missing sex with women... though not enough to rock the boat with Anthony. With a warm smile, Diana led Sören back to Anthony's office.  
  
When Sören came in, Anthony rose from his chair to greet him. He'd worn his wig and robes earlier that day - Sören saw them in a bag near Anthony's desk - and now Anthony was wearing a charcoal grey suit with a white shirt, and of course the tie from Sören. Anthony looked very, very tired, but he managed a smile as Diana went off, closing the door behind her, with Sören walking to him. Anthony came to meet Sören halfway and for a moment they just looked at each other.  
  
Then they fell into each other's arms, Anthony hugging him tight, rocking him a little, and Sören rocked Anthony too. "How did it go?" Sören asked.  
  
Anthony made a noise.  
  
Sören sat at Anthony's desk, in one of the chairs meant for clients. Anthony went over to his water cooler and brought Sören a cup of water. Sören accepted it with a "_takk_", and Anthony sat back down. Sören turned over the framed picture on Anthony's desk - the doodle Sören had made months ago of George the Wig and barrister wigs multiplying out of control, making babies like Tribbles, with a cartoon Anthony looking exasperated. Sören smiled at it fondly, and then also smiled at the painting of the two ravens on one of the office walls. Anthony smiled back at Sören.  
  
"I'm glad to see you," Anthony said. "It's been... a day."  
  
"That's why I came." Sören nodded.  
  
"You must be exhausted."  
  
"I am, but you're important to me."  
  
Their eyes met, and Anthony reached across the desk to take Sören's hand. "You take such good care of me," Anthony said.  
  
"Well, we take care of each other." Sören took Anthony's hand and kissed it. Then he put the water down and got up for a minute, reaching for Anthony's bag by the desk.  
  
"...What are you doing?"  
  
Sören took out the wig. "Hi, George. Were you a good boy today at court?"  
  
Anthony facepalmed, and shook with silent laughter that became less silent as Sören began petting the wig like it was a cat. "Yes, that's a good George," Sören cooed, skritching the wig. "That's a nice George."  
  
"Sören..." Anthony gave Sören a look of mock exasperation.  
  
"Jæja?"  
  
Anthony laughed harder. "You're terrible."  
  
"_Takk._"  
  
When they calmed down, Sören put the wig on Anthony's desk and finished the water. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important," Sören said. "I would have called first but I wanted to surprise you."  
  
"It's a good surprise." Anthony stroked Sören's hand across the desk. "And no, not anything particularly important. I was handling some post-court paperwork but it's not dire."  
  
"So was it really that bad?"  
  
Anthony made a noise again. "I told you when we first got together there are times I question my sanity for going into this line of work. This is one of those times." Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose. "This week was one of the cases where I feel like a shitty person for defending him. I did it anyway because it had to be done, but..." Anthony gave a little shudder of revulsion. "I'm glad it's done, and I'm glad I lost."  
  
"Oh, _elskan._" Sören got up, and came around the desk, and pulled Anthony close. Anthony returned the hug, and they rocked together for a minute.  
  
Then, stroking Anthony's face, Sören said, "Well, remember, I still think you're a good man for following your conscience, even when it's rough."  
  
Anthony sighed. "Yeah. My conscience wishes I didn't have to defend people like this guy, just the same."  
  
"I know. But like you said, it had to be done. And..." Sören made the wig hop across the desk. "George thinks you're good, too, right George?" George wagged, and Sören made the wig nod, and then let out a bark.  
  
Anthony laughed again. "Oh, so he barks now?"  
  
Sören barked again, and then he said, "MEOW. MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..."  
  
"Oh my god, Sören." Anthony doubled over, turning beetroot, tearing up.  
  
"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..."  
  
Anthony got up with a start, grabbed Sören, and kissed him hard, making Sören breathless. As their tongues teased, Sören's cock sprang to life, and Sören was reminded of the buttplug inside him. The kiss deepened, heated, Anthony crushing Sören against him, and now Sören could feel Anthony hard through his trousers, too. Sören reached down to palm the hard bulge and Anthony groaned, sucking on Sören's lower lip before kissing him again.  
  
Sören had been hoping to accompany Anthony home and make him take a detour for sex in the back of the Audi. But now Sören couldn't wait that long. Not thinking, just feeling - hungering - Sören kicked off his Doc Martens and yanked his scrub pants down. He guided Anthony's hands to the waistband of the lacy red thong he'd put on before leaving work; Anthony moaned into the kiss as he peeled the thong off of Sören and watched Sören's hard, already-dripping cock spring free. Then after Anthony took Sören's cock into his hand and gave it a few strokes, Sören gently removed his hand and turned around, showing Anthony the plug inside him.  
  
"My god." Anthony's breath caught. "You didn't... wear that all day, did you?"  
  
"Well no, I can't wear that when I'm performing surgery. Too distracting." Sören gave a throaty chuckle and then he wiggled his ass. "I put it in before I left work." Sören's voice was husky as he said, "I wanted to be ready for you."  
  
Anthony moaned again, and pulled the plug out of Sören's ass. It was Sören's turn to moan as he felt the emptiness and his hole twitched, wanting to be filled back up with something else.  
  
Sören took off his satchel and produced the lube, and turned back around to undo Anthony's trousers and briefs, letting them pool to his ankles. Then Sören took his hair down and shook his curls out, and dropped to his knees, taking Anthony's cock into his mouth. Anthony groaned and tugged Sören's curls as Sören swallowed him down, and Anthony tried to keep his voice down as Sören sucked him slowly, really working his tongue both to tease Anthony and to get his cock nice and wet. Sören's own cock throbbed as he sucked, turned on by Anthony's lust and pleasure, as well as the naughty thrill of doing this in his office.  
  
After a few minutes Sören let Anthony's cock slip from his mouth, and reached for the lube on the desk. He poured it over Anthony's cock and stroked it, working it in, still on his knees, looking up at Anthony adoringly. Then at last Sören got up, shoved Anthony down in his chair, and straddled Anthony's lap, facing him. He held onto the back of Anthony's wingback leather chair, and with Anthony's arms around him, holding him steady, Sören sank down, impaling himself slowly on Anthony's cock. When Anthony bottomed out inside him, they kissed again, deep and hungry.  
  
Sören began to ride, bouncing on Anthony's lap. They kissed and kissed, trying to keep their voices down, but as Anthony's cock rubbed away at that sweet spot inside him and their tongues played together and Anthony's arms held him tight, his hands caressing Sören's ass and the small of his back, it got harder for Sören not to moan. Anthony tugged on the hem of Sören's shirt and the long-sleeved undershirt and scrub top came off too; it became downright impossible not to moan as Anthony's hands slid over Sören's arms and bare chest, his thumbs and fingers teasing the nipples, pinching and brushing and plucking. Anthony began to kiss Sören's neck, and when his tongue licked down Sören's throat, Sören let out a little cry, not able to help it.  
  
"Shhhhh." Anthony chuckled. "You have to be quiet." His mouth met Sören's and kissed him fiercely, Sören moaning into the kiss as Anthony slapped his ass.  
  
Then Anthony was kissing and licking Sören's neck again, his right arm around Sören, his left hand wandering, caressing Sören's chest, stomach, hip and thigh, fingers walking over his cock, fist grasping it and playing with it a few dozen strokes before his hand slid over Sören's body once more. "God, you're beautiful," Anthony husked. He nipped Sören's lower lip and sucked it, then kissed Sören's mouth, tongues dancing, fucking, before Anthony's mouth was on his neck once more, his shoulder.  
  
As Anthony kissed, licked and nibbled the sweet spot where the neck and shoulder met, and his finger and thumb pinched and rubbed and pulled on Sören's nipples, played with the rings before rubbing some more, Sören tried not to moan but he heard himself whimpering, and then crying out again. Anthony growled and shoved his middle and index fingers in Sören's mouth, watching Sören suck on them with lust in his eyes before he resumed kissing and licking Sören's neck, Sören's moans muffled by the fingers he sucked on.  
  
There was something so hot about this, Anthony still mostly clothed, looking sharp in his suit, while Sören was completely naked, riding him in his desk chair, with Anthony's fingers in his mouth as he kissed and licked and bit Sören's neck and shoulder. Sören rode harder, faster, feeling his balls tighten, getting closer and closer, driven to frenzy by desire and sensation. He loved that forbidden thrill of being in Anthony's office where they could potentially get caught - being so shameless in their need for each other that they would do this here. Sören felt so wanton, having worn the thong and the plug here, and now riding Anthony with abandon, wanting this beyond reason, not caring if someone might walk in on them, the only thing that mattered was the two of them and their passion, their _fuck_. Sören loved feeling out of control like this, wild and free after having been so afraid for so long. Here was _life_, and he grabbed it and took it for all it was worth.  
  
"I love you," Anthony rasped between kisses at Sören's neck. "I love you... love you. Love you."  
  
"Mmmm," Sören moaned around the fingers in his mouth.  
  
Anthony removed his fingers from Sören's mouth, grabbed him and kissed him as hard as Sören had ever been kissed, held Sören tight as he could, and Sören rode him madly, worried for just a minute he might break the chair. The perfect rhythm on his prostate pushed him to that edge, Sören trembling, and Anthony seemed to sense he was right there. Anthony kissed him again and again, and then, he took Sören's chin in his hand, stroking the beard and Sören's lower lip with his thumb, and with Sören's cock in his other hand, he whispered, "Come for me."  
  
Anthony kissed Sören again and Sören gave a muffled cry into the kiss as he began to shoot; Anthony aimed Sören's cock away from his suit, so Sören's seed spilled over Anthony's hand and over his own flesh. A few seconds later and Anthony nibbled Sören's neck with a growl, spending into him. Sören moaned into the kiss, throbbing intensifying at the feel of Anthony coming inside him, filling him. The kiss broke, the two gasping for breath, shaking, and then Anthony gave him one last kiss, arms holding him, rocking him. At last Anthony pulled Sören against his chest, his chin resting on the top of Sören's head, and he rubbed Sören's back; Sören closed his eyes and let the world slip away, just melting, drifting.  
  
Sören came back to himself with Anthony patting his ass. Sören heard himself give a throaty giggle, picking his head up and stealing a little kiss before carefully climbing off Anthony.  
  
"Wow." Anthony grabbed a wad of tissues and handed them to Sören, and then another handful to wipe his own cock. "Wow." He laughed softly.  
  
Sören thought about putting his scrubs back on but instead he just sat on Anthony's desk, naked. Then, feeling silly in post-orgasmic euphoria, he grabbed the wig and lay across Anthony's desk, propped up on one elbow, with George askew on his head. "So... come here often?"  
  
Anthony doubled over, turning red, tearing up, shaking with laughter. He gave Sören a mock stern look. "_Sören._"  
  
"Oh, are you being overprotective of George?" Sören took the wig off and held it, petting it like it was a cat again. "Your poor innocent wig here..."  
  
"Sören." Anthony shook his head. "_Sören._"  
  
Sören put the wig back on the desk and with an exaggerated sigh, he got up. Before he could reach down for the thong and scrub bottoms, Anthony grabbed him and pulled him close. "Thank you," Anthony husked, brushing a stray lock out of Sören's eyes, before kissing him hard.  
  
That kiss got Sören going again, and Anthony laughed as he watched Sören's cock rise. He stopped laughing when Sören pulled him into a kiss - he groaned, and Sören reached for Anthony's own cock, hardening up again.  
  
Sören needed more. He felt like he was in heat, caught up in the passion of stealing this moment right in Anthony's office. He found himself bending over Anthony's desk, and Anthony got behind him, grabbed Sören's hips, and pushed into him, taking him from behind.  
  
Their second fuck of the afternoon was just as hard and wild as the one in Anthony's chair, if not moreso. Sören tried to keep his voice down as Anthony slammed into him, savage, punishing thrusts hitting that perfect note of pleasure over and over, driving him to the breaking point of ecstasy. Sören grabbed the edge of the desk, white-knuckled; Anthony tugged Sören's curls with one hand and slapped Sören's ass with the other, the sweet sting twinging through Sören's entire body, even into his cock and nipples, making them throb urgently.  
  
They tried not to moan but they couldn't help panting, accompanied by the slap of their hips together. Sören rocked back at Anthony, giving back as good as he got, fucking himself, needing this like the air he was gasping for. Sören's thighs quivered as he got closer and closer, and when he heard himself moaning Anthony's fingers went in his mouth again. With Anthony's fingers in his mouth, Sören gave a muffled, strangled howl as his body gave into another climax, shooting over Anthony's desk. Anthony let out a shuddery sigh as he filled Sören once more, and Sören smiled as he felt Anthony lean against him, shaking with the force of his release.  
  
Anthony decided to leave work early; somehow Sören managed to put his scrubs back on and make it out to the Audi, where he dozed off on the ride back home. When they arrived, Anthony helped him out of the car and up to the second floor to their flat, and then he picked up Sören and carried him into the flat, which made Sören smile and giggle.  
  
He carried Sören right into the bedroom and began undressing right away. Sören found himself getting horny yet again as he watched Anthony get naked, and Sören let out a little scream, giggling hysterically as Anthony pounced on him on the bed like a giant cat and feverishly tugged Sören's clothes off. When Sören was completely naked, Anthony slid down, and spread Sören's legs, putting them on his shoulders as he knelt between and his tongue speared Sören's channel, licking his seed out of Sören, then just eating at him as Sören writhed and thrashed, grabbing the headboard, losing his mind with the wicked magic of Anthony's tongue rubbing inside him.  
  
Anthony ate him for a long time, Sören getting louder and louder, until he was making inhuman noises, and then couldn't moan or whine at all, just panted, gasped, his entire body shaking as Anthony kept him on that edge, tongue teasing as slow as could please. When Sören found his voice again he begged for relief. "Please."  
  
"Mmmmmmmmmmm."  
  
Sören's cock throbbed, loving it when Anthony did that, tongue inside him. "Oh god, please."  
  
"_Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm_."  
  
"Please, brother..." Sören panted, quivering. "_Please_, brother, make me _come_..."  
  
Anthony's tongue worked harder and faster, and soon Sören came, screaming as his cock erupted, Anthony's tongue continuing to stroke inside him through the pulsing orgasm. When Anthony stopped licking he rested for a moment, then he slid up a little to lick Sören's cock clean, and lick the seed from Sören's stomach and chest, before sliding up all the way, taking Sören's chin in his hand and kissing him hard. Sören groaned at the feel of Anthony's hard cock against his thigh, ready to play again, and when the kiss broke apart, they looked into each other's eyes and stroked each other's faces, then Sören shoved Anthony onto his back and kissed him deeply, fiercely.  
  
It had been a long week, and now they were going to have a long weekend, if Sören had anything to say about it.


	23. Fire and Ice

"Oh god, end me."  
  
It was Thursday, August second. Sören knew it was going to be hot today, but it was one thing to know that and another thing to step out from the air-conditioned hospital into the furnace-like open air. Anthony would be at work for another three hours, and though Anthony never minded picking Sören up, Sören didn't want to hang around the hospital for another three-plus hours just to get a ride home in the air-conditioned car, he'd been working since eleven PM last night and it was one PM now and he just wanted a shower and a nap.  
  
By the time he made his way to the Tube station he was soaked with sweat, and the train was so packed with people that he continued to sweat. When he arrived in Kingston, he was drenched and feeling slightly ill; he stopped at a nearby coffee shop and waited in the queue for what felt like forever to get an iced smoothie and an ice water to chase it down with. He sat at a table and took a load off as he drank, enjoying the air conditioning.  
  
On the walk to the flat he started to sweat again. Never had the haul up to the second floor felt more exhausting. Once he was in the flat he tumbled over the arm of the couch and just lay there like that for a few minutes. They had turned the air off during the day to conserve power and not be wasteful, and the flat was stifling without air conditioning. When Sören was able to get up again, he put on the central air and pushed himself to the bathroom so he could shower, struggling with every step. He was seriously considering calling out of work tomorrow, something he never did, because it was that bad.  
  
When Sören got out of the shower, the flat still felt too warm. Sören went and checked the thermostat, and the temperature was still the same as it had been when Sören put the air on. It had been long enough where the air should have kicked in and cooled the place down before Sören got out of the shower. Sören made a face, and after he pulled on a pair of linen pajama bottoms, he texted Anthony.  
  
_The air conditioning isn't working._  
  
A few minutes later Anthony replied with a poop emoji.  
  
Then Anthony texted: _I'll call the landlord and see if he can send a repairman out._  
  
Sören wondered if they'd even be able to get a repairman out today. He opened a window in the living room, and grabbed a cold water out of the fridge. He was already starting to sweat again; before he could sit back on the couch he went down to the bathroom, grabbed some washcloths, and wet them down with cold water, and applied them to his forehead, neck and torso once he sat, sipping water. Out of morbid curiosity Sören turned on his laptop and checked the weather, and almost spat when he saw the local temperature was 33C (91F). That was far, far hotter than what he was used to in Iceland, where temperatures rarely got higher than 12C (55C) and it was considered "a hot day" if it was 18C (65F).  
  
Sören leaned back on the couch and made a noise. He finished his water and then he went to the bedroom, opened windows, and flomped onto the bed. It quickly proved too hot to sleep. Sören went back to the living room, wet the washcloths again in the kitchen sink, and lay on the couch, zoning out to the BBC News on television. He was too exhausted to try to work on art, much as that normally would make him feel a little better when he was feeling poorly.  
  
Sören's phone chimed, letting him know there was a text message. Anthony's text read: _Landlord says he can't get anyone out till tomorrow morning. I am so, so sorry._  
  
Sören fired back: _Fuck._  
  
_If it's really bad we can go to a hotel,_ Anthony texted.  
  
Even though a night in a hotel was a trivial expense where Anthony was concerned, Sören still felt weirdly guilty about it. But he wasn't going to tell Anthony no. _If anything even has vacancies. LOL._  
  
Anthony replied: _Let me call around and see. LOL._  
  
An hour later, there was another text from Anthony. _Nothing within a reasonable driving distance has vacancies. Fucking Olympics._  
  
_Jesus._ Sören made another noise.  
  
_I'll stop on the way home to buy a couple of fans. I'll pick up dinner too._  
  
Now Sören knew he was going to have to call out of work, since he couldn't sleep now, and fans would only make a marginal amount of improvement. He hated doing it, but he also knew he wasn't at his best to perform surgery, knowing he very likely had heat exhaustion.  
  
_Bring home some Gatorade or something with electrolytes too,_ Sören texted back.  
  
Then Sören called National, and though his supervisor grumbled, there was really nothing that could be done about the situation. After he got off the phone Sören lay there, tired and achy and feeling a little sick to his stomach.  
  
He was half-asleep when he heard Anthony's keys in the door. "Bloody hell," Anthony growled as he stepped into the warm apartment - which was still less bad than when Sören got in. Anthony attempted a smile at Sören laying on the couch. "You poor dear."  
  
Sören made a noise.  
  
"Here, let's take care of you." Anthony opened up a box with one of the fans he'd lugged upstairs, and plugged it in to blow on Sören from a few meters away. Then he reached into a shopping bag and thrust a cold Gatorade at Sören, who sat up and gave him a weak smile. "OK, I need out of this suit." Anthony started undressing right there, which made Sören laugh and wolf whistle; Anthony turned beetroot and managed to grin, the smile meeting his eyes.  
  
Anthony went down the hall to take a quick shower, presumably cold, and came back in briefs, which made Sören wolf whistle again. Anthony chuckled as he got on the couch next to Sören. "You're terrible." He gave Sören a little kiss. "I am _so_ sorry about the air and the hotels being booked up -"  
  
Sören waved his hand dismissively, not wanting Anthony to beat himself up over something he had no control over. "It's not your fault." He sighed. "I called out of work for tomorrow, because. Well."  
  
Anthony nodded. "I don't blame you."  
  
"It means I'll have to make up for it next week, take some extra hours to make up for whoever they send in to cover for me, but." Sören sighed again. "I felt like I was going to fucking _die_ on the way home."  
  
Anthony kissed him again. "Here." He took out a container with a salad in it. "I also grabbed us sandwiches. I didn't think you were in the mood to eat anything hot."  
  
Sören needed to take the obvious shot to keep from sobbing and whining like a baby over how physically awful he felt. He gave Anthony a pointed look and said, "Oh, I don't know about that."  
  
Anthony turned beetroot again and laughed. "_Sören._" He rolled his eyes. "I meant food, you pervert." Then he grinned, still laughing.  
  
They ate in companionable silence, and then packed themselves down with more wet washcloths. Anthony wasn't dealing with the heat as badly as Sören, but he was still noticeably uncomfortable. "If I wasn't so tired I would say let's just go to Brighton, it's an air-conditioned car ride... and the beach house has central air. I'd even call out tomorrow so we wouldn't have to get up at stupid o'clock to head back." Anthony groaned. "But I don't think I'd be safe on the road like this right now."  
  
Sören nodded and patted him. "It's OK. We'll survive."  
  
Anthony put on a movie but it became clear about twenty minutes in that neither of them were paying attention, both leaning on each other, groggy from the heat. The temperature started to drop a little when it got dark outside, but it was still too warm in the apartment for Sören's comfort and after awhile they just retreated to bed, with Anthony setting up a fan to blow directly onto them.  
  
As tired as Sören was, it was still warm enough that he was having trouble sleeping. Anthony tossed and turned a bit too and finally Sören asked, "Still awake?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Sören got up, went to the freezer, and took out a container of peanut butter ice cream. He came back to the bedroom with the carton and two spoons, not feeling like taking the trouble to dish it out. Anthony chuckled when he saw the container of ice cream.  
  
They sat up together in bed, eating ice cream out of the container. It melted a little more quickly than usual in the warm air of the apartment, and a bit of ice cream slid off Sören's spoon onto Anthony's shoulder. Before Anthony could use one of the damp washcloths to wipe it off, Sören licked it off him, and Anthony laughed, turning pink. Then he kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "You're so damn cute."  
  
Sören felt a little bashful. He crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.  
  
Heat flared in Anthony's eyes, and though Sören was exhausted and still not feeling well from the heat, his cock still responded, stiffening in the loose linen pajama pants. With Sören's next bite of ice cream he sucked deliberately on the spoon, holding Anthony's gaze. Then Anthony let the spoon slip "accidentally" so ice cream landed on Sören's chest.  
  
"Oops," Anthony said. "Let me clean that up." He leaned in and licked the ice cream from Sören's bare skin, tongue brushing slowly, deliberately, looking into Sören's eyes the whole time.  
  
Sören's cock was tenting the pajamas now, throbbing, wanting. Sören's nipples ached for attention. But also the cold ice cream on his flesh felt good; Sören's next spoonful of ice cream also "accidentally" went on his chest, close to a nipple. Anthony leaned in again to clean it with his tongue and when his tongue strayed to tease the nipple, Sören clutched his head and moaned. Anthony's tongue took a few lashes and his teeth gently tugged the nipple ring, then he kissed up Sören's neck. Sören looked down and smirked at the hard bulge in Anthony's briefs.  
  
"Here," Anthony said, spooning some ice cream and putting the spoon in Sören's mouth. Then he pulled the spoon out and kissed Sören, their tongues playing together, sharing the ice cream between them. Anthony sucked on Sören's lower lip as he put the lid back on the carton of ice cream.  
  
Anthony got up and took the ice cream back to the freezer, and Sören decided to get out of his pajama bottoms. He lay there naked on the bed, idly stroking himself, which was how Anthony found him when he wandered back in a few minutes later, carrying a large bowl. Anthony put the bowl down on the bedtable and got his briefs off, freeing his hard cock.  
  
The bowl had ice cubes in it. Sören laughed, and then he stopped laughing as Anthony took an ice cube and traced it along his forehead. The sharp cold felt good, and Sören closed his eyes and sighed. He sighed again when Anthony's lips brushed in the wake of the ice cube.  
  
The ice cube traced over Sören's lips, and then as Anthony kissed Sören's mouth, warming his lips again, the ice cube slid up and down Sören's neck. The hair on the back of Sören's neck stood on end, his skin made gooseflesh. The chill of the ice was a relief, and the delicious chills of an erogenous zone being touched this way went right to Sören's cock. Sören moaned as he felt the ice cube dripping down his throat, his neck, beads of water spilling down his shoulder and back. Anthony continued moving the ice cube over Sören's neck and throat and shoulders until it was a sliver, then he put the ice in Sören's mouth for him to suck on and kissed him, the two passing the ice back and forth between them as they kissed.  
  
Anthony took another ice cube and slid it down Sören's throat again, this time to his collarbone and then back and forth across his chest. The ice cube traced around and around an aureole and then over the hard nipple, making Sören gasp and shiver. Anthony started kissing Sören's neck and shoulder as the ice worked around and over the other nipple, and then his teeth and tongue came into play, licking and nibbling Sören's neck, as he went back to the first nipple. The ice went to one nipple then the other, swirling around, brushing over. Sören's cock twinged urgently, balls tightening; Sören heard himself crying out, bucking up against Anthony, who gave an appreciative groan as he bit Sören's shoulder.  
  
Another ice cube traced up and down Sören's chest, near the nipples but not touching. Then the ice cube trailed over Sören's stomach, with Sören moaning at the cold touch electrifying another deliciously sensitive, erogenous place. Yet another ice cube played over one hip bone and thigh, and up the other, and Anthony made circles around Sören's navel, making Sören moan and giggle.  
  
Then Anthony had Sören roll onto his stomach, and Anthony began to slide an ice cube down Sören's spine, slowly, slowly. Sören gasped and his fists clenched the pillows, white-knuckled, shivering with need, his cock and hole twitching at the feel of the ice trailing down his spine. When Anthony traced the ink on Sören's back with an ice cube, Sören howled into the pillows, rubbing against the mattress, aching for release. Another ice cube played down his spine again, and then in the crack of his ass. The melting sliver of ice traced around his hole, dripping into him, and Sören whimpered, thrashing, feeling like he was going crazy. Sören heard Anthony chewing on a piece of ice and then Anthony's tongue slid into him, cold from having sucked on an ice cube, and Sören screamed, bucking against him. Anthony held Sören's hips and ate him slowly. The feel of the cold tongue slowly lapping that sweet spot inside him was one of the most intensely pleasurable things Sören had ever experienced in his life - desperate to come, yet never wanting Anthony to stop licking him like this. Sören almost sobbed as Anthony took his time there, teasing.  
  
When Sören was quivering, babbling incoherently into the pillows, Anthony stopped licking inside him, and began kissing and licking his way up Sören's spine. Sören screamed again - he could almost come just from that. Feeling Anthony's kisses on his exquisitely sensitive nape made him cry out.  
  
Anthony rolled Sören back over. He took an ice cube and put it in Sören's mouth, and then another and started over again, teasing Sören's neck and throat, then teasing Sören's nipples back and forth. Now his mouth worked on one nipple as the ice worked on the other, Sören moaning with the ice in his mouth as Anthony lapped and suckled, pulled the nipples with his lips, nibbled, tugged the rings. Anthony's mouth followed the ice down Sören's stomach. And then melting ice dripped over Sören's cock, Sören gasping at the cold drops teasing as they slid down his shaft. Anthony sucked on an ice cube as he trailed ice over Sören's thighs, and with his tongue cold once more, he took a few licks at Sören's cock, then drew the cock into his mouth. Sören gave a hoarse shout and then moaned, shivering, brought once again to tears by how intense the pleasure was as Anthony sucked him, rubbing his tongue as he sucked.  
  
Before Sören could climax like that, Anthony stopped, and came up to kiss Sören, sharing Sören's precum in the kiss. Sören reached for the bowl of ice and went straight for Anthony's chest, giving the same treatment to his nipples, slow circles around one then feather-light brushes over the nipple, warming with his lips and tongue as the ice teased the other. Anthony moaned and pet Sören's curls, encouraging him. Sören spent a long time there, feasting, until Anthony grabbed him by the curls and kissed him roughly; Sören saw the ice in the bowl was melting a bit and they needed to make good use of it.  
  
Sören took another ice cube and played over the rest of Anthony's body, making Anthony shiver and gasp and moan as the ice traced over his stomach, around his navel, over one hip bone and over a thigh, then across to the other thigh and hip, around his navel and up his stomach again. Sören sucked on an ice cube as he went back to Anthony's thighs in slow, deliberate swirls, and traced behind the knee, smiling as Anthony cried out. Sören kissed Anthony behind the knee, groaning as Anthony moaned, and then he kissed and licked one thigh, then the other, the ice still in his mouth. When the ice was melted in his mouth, Sören's cold tongue pushed inside Anthony's channel, licking him slowly, then fast and fierce, not able to help reaching down and touching himself as Anthony got more vocal.  
  
Sören sucked on another ice cube as he came up and made a second round with ice over Anthony's chest, teasing the nipples some more, then down to his stomach. Then Sören chewed the ice and swallowed, and dove down to suck Anthony's cock, slowly at first then sucking hard and hungry, their eyes locked, Sören stroking himself some more at the needy look in his lover's eyes, the way he gasped and groaned as Sören sucked him.  
  
They fell into a sixty-nine to finish what they started, sucking each other like they were starving for it, moaning with their mouths full. When Anthony took a sliver of ice and teased around the rim of Sören's opening again, letting ice drip into him, Sören lost control and came in Anthony's mouth, whimpering with his mouth full as the powerful orgasm ripped through him. Anthony moaned around Sören's cock as he drank the seed down, and a few seconds later Sören was tasting Anthony as well, loving it, petting Anthony as he shuddered with a full-body orgasm; Sören smiled as he watched Anthony's fingers and toes curl involuntarily.  
  
"God." Sören laughed as Anthony climbed up and cuddled against him, head on Sören's shoulder. "That was _fucking awesome._"  
  
"That," Anthony said, "was one of the best sexual experiences of my life. It's unfortunate the air conditioning needs to be repaired, but..."  
  
"But wow, did we make something amazing out of something completely shit." Sören gave Anthony a little kiss, and Anthony smiled, kissing the tip of Sören's nose.  
  
"I love you," Anthony said, stroking Sören's face, looking into his eyes. "You bring magic and joy to my life. Never forget that."  
  
Sören took Anthony's hand and kissed it, and drew him into a deeper kiss than before. "And you bring passion to mine." He put Anthony's hand on his heart, feeling love so strong it hurt, burning his eyes with tears.  
  
_This is the one._


	24. Summer's End

"We're here, love." Anthony kissed Sören's cheek and tousled his curls.  
  
Sören blinked his eyes open - he'd half-dozed off in the car, being he'd worked until eleven PM last night. Anthony had set the alarm for eight instead of his usual five AM, but had been go-go-go since then, with the two stopping at the supermarket for provisions before hitting the road to Brighton. It was August nineteenth and they'd be here until the twenty-fourth, coming back to London that evening, and then after a weekend at Anthony's parents' house in Blackheath, Sören would have an early morning shift on the twenty-seventh. It still didn't feel like long enough. But it was an entire week, which was more time away than Sören had seen since he'd started with the NHS in 2010, and the most time off he'd had even before that.  
  
Now it was just after eleven AM, a bright sunny Sunday morning. And since Sören had only been half-asleep in the car, and was still tired, as soon as the groceries were put away the first order of business was catching up on more sleep. Sören stripped down to his boxer-briefs and slipped into the cool silk sheets; a few minutes later Anthony joined him, chuckling. Sören rolled to face him and Anthony moved closer and they snuggled, legs braiding together. Anthony pet Sören's curls and stroked his face for a few minutes, with Sören opening his eyes to smile at him, and reached out to touch Anthony's face in turn. Anthony kissed Sören's brow and pulled him close. Curled up into Anthony's chest, listening to his heartbeat and the sound of the waves outside, Sören fell asleep.  
  
Sören woke a few hours later to Anthony rubbing his head and his back, raining kisses over his face. When Sören opened his eyes, Anthony took his face in his hands and kissed him, and Sören melted into the kiss, cock rising to attention. Then Sören chuckled as he felt Anthony's own hard erection through his briefs. A few hungry kisses later, they settled into a sweet, languid sixty-nine, and after they came together they cuddled some more, until Sören had to get up to go to the bathroom. When he came back Anthony was putting his clothes back on, and Sören followed suit, wearing khaki cargo shorts and a black, red, green and yellow tie-dye T-shirt, a contrast to Anthony's denim shorts and short-sleeved light blue button-down shirt.  
  
They didn't stay clothed for long, opting to go to the naturist beach. It was a warm enough day that Sören convinced Anthony to take a dip in the ocean with him. Holding each other naked in the ocean put them in an amorous mood and when they got back they made love for the next few hours, taking turns inside each other in different positions - Anthony taking Sören from behind, then Anthony's legs on Sören's shoulders as Sören fucked him hard, before Sören rode his cock, then Anthony rode Sören. Then they finished in another sixty-nine, this time tongue-fucking each other, lapping up their seed inside the other. Sören fell asleep again after that last shattering orgasm, and was woken up to Anthony getting dressed. They decided to go out to dinner, walking to a cafe, and then they went out for ice cream; as they held hands, eating ice cream on the way back to the beach house, the sun set, and Sören felt quiet joy, a sense of deep contentment. That sense of peace stayed with him as he curled up with Anthony to go back to sleep, and for the first time in years he actually felt refreshed when he woke up in the morning.  
  
It was good that Sören had gotten some rest, not just in and of itself, but Anthony wanted to do the Undercliff Walk, which he hadn't done since he was a teenager on holiday in Brighton with his parents. Sören was enchanted by the white chalk cliffs, and the long stretch of the seawall with the ocean right there; he liked the way the cliff hugged on one side and the sea rolled beyond the wall on the other side - large rock formations being close to the sea was something he was familiar with, having grown up on the fjord of Akureyri, but this was also very different. He kept looking out at the morning sun sparkling on the water, feeling that sense of wonder at how the sea and sky seemed to go on forever, and that was intensified by the white rock that had been there for so long, enduring generations - something timeless about this place, a liminal feeling that gave him chills as they walked.  
  
The liminal feeling was such that he had a strange sense of déjà vu, like he and Anthony had done this before, even though they hadn't actually been here when they'd visited Brighton previously; for the briefest instant Sören saw an apparition of he and Anthony walking in the opposite direction, towards them, holding hands like they were now, and Sören's belly was swollen as if with child.  
  
The vision disappeared as quickly as it had come on and Sören gasped, shivered.  
  
"Are you OK?" Anthony squeezed Sören's hand.  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
It was low tide, and they went down to the beach on one of the concrete staircases; Sören and Anthony took off their footwear and socks, leaving them on the step, and went into the water a little to look at the rock pools. Anthony wrapped his arms around Sören's waist, gently rocking him as they explored, and once again Sören felt deep peace, like he had come home.  
  
"I love you." Sören kissed him.  
  
"I love you." Anthony kissed him back.  
  
When they went back to the beach house, Sören drew on his WaCom tablet and Anthony read. They took a nap some hours later, and then for dinner Sören made homemade fish and chips, which they took out to the beach and ate, watching the sunset together.  
  
They made love well into the late hours, and slept in Tuesday morning. After a breakfast that might as well have been an early lunch, and coffee, they decided to do the Undercliff Walk again. This time they were there for high tide - Sören was fascinated by the waves lapping against the seawall, and let out a little squeak every time a wave crashed over, splashing them. After Sören had squeaked several times, Anthony laughed, delighted by his reaction. "You're so cute," he said, letting go of Sören's hand and putting an arm around his waist. Sören felt his face flush and he crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. Anthony gave a little growl, crushed Sören against him, and kissed him deeply.  
  
Then there was a _thwack_. Sören broke the kiss, looking around, alarmed. Anthony chuckled and pointed; a piece of chalk had broken off the cliff and landed on the deck not far from where they were standing.  
  
"Here." Anthony picked it up and handed it to Sören. "My mum always said to make a wish when these fall."  
  
Sören smiled, took the chalk pebble, and rubbed it with his thumb. The first thought that came to his mind was _I wish you would marry me._  
  
Sören's heart began to race, his skin breaking out in gooseflesh. He'd felt for some time that Anthony Hewlett-Johnson was the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, but now here was the deeper truth of that. Sören wasn't a religious man, but vows meant something to him. Knowing he wanted to bind their lives together that way...  
  
Sören swallowed hard and kept that thought to himself. For now. He tucked the pebble in his pocket, wanting to keep a souvenir of that moment when he knew, beyond all doubt.  
  
They made fierce, passionate love when they got back to the beach house, Sören riding him to climax over and over again. They tangled up for a nap and went to a cafe for dinner; they came back and Sören drew some more on the WaCom and Anthony read. Before they were ready for sleep, they took a walk together along the beach, enjoying the quiet, peaceful night.  
  
On Wednesday morning Sören was in unusually good spirits - it was amazing what a few days of rest and relaxation could do. He had managed to sneak George the wig into his suitcase without Anthony knowing when they were packing on Saturday, and now, feeling playful, while Anthony was in the bathroom Sören took out George and put him on the kitchen counter. It took Anthony a few minutes to notice, but while he was in the kitchen having iced coffee, he did finally notice, spluttering.  
  
"Sören." Anthony gave him a stern look. "_Sören._"  
  
Sören gave him an innocent face, batting his lashes. "George works hard, making sure you behave when you're at court."  
  
Anthony put a hand on his hip and raised an eyebrow.  
  
"So George deserved to go on holiday too." Sören went over to the counter and patted George, then picked him up and rocked him. "That's a good boy." Sören made George wag his tail and then Sören let out a "MEOW? MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..."  
  
"_God_, Sören."  
  
Sören wanted to go to the Royal Palace again to gawk at the over-the-top decor, and they spent longer there than they had their first visit so Sören could really take it all in. "This is like a Disney movie on steroids," Sören said in a hushed tone of voice. "Hell, I feel royal just by being here. It's like... osmosis."  
  
"I'm pretty sure that's not how osmosis works."  
  
"I'm a doctor, I'm telling you this is scientific fact now."  
  
Anthony laughed hard enough that it echoed and they got looks from tourists and a curator. Anthony blushed, and turned a deeper pink when Sören said, "We're Disney Princesses now." Anthony tried to not laugh again, but couldn't help it.  
  
"I need a tiara," Sören said as they made their way into the Music Room. "Now that I'm a princess." He did a twirl.  
  
"OK, but I'm not wearing a damn tiara."  
  
"No, you don't need to." Sören pulled George out of his satchel and put it on Anthony's head, even though Anthony wasn't technically supposed to be wearing the wig outside of court. The curator came by again and shot them a filthy look. Sören quickly put the wig back in his satchel and he and Anthony tried to pretend to be serious for the rest of the visit to the Royal Palace, but kept stealing amused glances at each other and finally when they were out of the palace they leaned on each other in hysterics.  
  
They went to the amusement park after the Royal Palace, going on rides like a couple of big kids - the rollercoaster, the river ride, cup and saucers. When Sören was sure he wasn't going to be ill after the rides, he got cotton candy, which made Anthony laugh, harder when fluff stuck to Sören's cheeks and beard. Anthony cleaned it off Sören's face with his tongue and they shared a kiss, which got a man muttering "Faggots," under his breath as they passed by. Sören gave him the finger and kissed Anthony harder, not caring.  
  
After another wild night of lovemaking Sören was deliciously sore when he woke up on Thursday. They went back to the Undercliff Walk - Sören had George in his satchel again and halfway through, Sören took out George and put him on a leash he'd made from a bit of ribbon. Sören walked George like he was a dog and Anthony had to stop, laughing too hard.  
  
When they went to the rock pools at low tide, Sören put George on a step and tied him. "Stay," he said, wagging his finger. Anthony lost it again, leaning on Sören in the rock pool.  
  
"You are the most ridiculous thing in existence," Anthony said.  
  
"Even more ridiculous than the Royal Palace? Wow. _Takk._" Sören beamed.  
  
Anthony kissed him. "I love you."  
  
"I love you too, _elskan_."  
  
Their eyes met and then Anthony kissed him deeply, hungrily. Sören's cock leapt to attention. They were the only two people around as far as the eye could see, and the combination of the kiss, Sören's feelings for Anthony, and the beautiful, melancholy seascape was a heady mix, Sören kissing him back and suddenly wanting, _craving_.  
  
Sören habitually carried lube in his satchel now, and for this trip to Brighton he'd also been bringing along a carefully rolled-up beach towel. Sören pulled back to take out the towel, spreading it over the rocks, and he put the satchel down and began to undress.  
  
"What are you doing?" Anthony asked, looking flustered.  
  
"You, hopefully," Sören rasped, and pulled Anthony down with him.  
  
Anthony got out of his clothes as quickly as he could, and when they were both naked, Anthony lay on the blanket with Sören on top of him and they laughed together. "I hope nobody comes," Anthony said, looking around nervously.  
  
"Oh, I hope somebody comes." Sören gave him a pointed look.  
  
It took Anthony a few seconds and then his laughter rang out. He gave Sören a mock stern look and slapped Sören's ass, before grabbing Sören and kissing him passionately. Sören moaned as Anthony kissed his neck, and cried out when Anthony began to lap and suckle his nipples, hard and sensitive in the chill of the sea air. Their mouths met again and their cocks rubbed together, and Sören reached for the lube in the satchel.  
  
"How do you want it?" Sören asked him.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
They laughed together and kissed again. Anthony stroked Sören's face. "I want you inside me," Anthony husked, meeting his eyes. "I want to feel your life. Your passion. Your fire."  
  
Sören kissed him as hard as he could, cock throbbing as he readied Anthony with slick fingers, one then two then three. When Anthony was ready he poured lube over Sören's cock. Sören leaned in to kiss him as he began to push inside, and when he was all the way in he rested there for a moment, the two looking into each other's eyes, breathing each other's breath. Sören had never felt closer to him than in this moment, Anthony seeming to exist on the same wavelength where he _got it_, the beauty of this place was affecting him the same way, wanting to share the magic with him.  
  
Then Sören kissed him again and started to thrust, slowly, sweetly. Anthony's arms came around him to hold him. His breath hitched as the ring in Sören's cock rubbed that sweet spot inside him, and his arms tightened around Sören as he initiated the kiss.  
  
It was a struggle for Sören to keep the pace slow the first few minutes, wanting to plow into the silken heat of his lover. But there was something about the way they both felt in this moment, something about being here by the sea, under the big sky, that made him control himself at least at first, needing to savor, needing to _love_. They continued to breathe each other's breath, faces close, touching, holding, as the low tide rolled and seabirds called in the distance.  
  
And at last Anthony whispered, "Don't hold back," and Sören rose up, propped one of Anthony's legs on his shoulder, and pounded away. Anthony's hands slid over Sören's body as Sören rocked in and out of him, knowing where and how to touch him, making Sören break into gooseflesh, nipples aching. And the look of worship in Anthony's eyes as his moans got louder, echoing out to sea, fueled Sören's lust even hotter.  
  
There was a forbidden thrill about doing this here, knowing others could pass by on the Undercliff Walk and see them, but it also felt incredibly right to love each other here like this, alone with the elements, no rooms but the sea and the rocks and the nearby cliffs, no roof but the sky. Their love for each other was like a force of nature, and being truly at one with nature here out in the rock pool felt like they were honoring that.  
  
Sören grit his teeth, trying not to come, wanting Anthony to come first, but he felt more and more delicious, and the sight of him lost in ecstasy, the sound of him moaning, out of control, the slap of their flesh, had Sören right on that edge, trembling, gasping for breath. He reached down to play with Anthony's cock, stroking in time to his thrusts. Anthony was definitely on that edge himself, making a guttural noise as Sören began pleasuring his cock. Anthony's eyes rolled back and he moaned, "Oh god Sören. Oh god. Ohgod... ohgodohgod." He closed his eyes, shuddered, and then his eyes met Sören's, needy, desperate.  
  
Sören felt himself hurtling to that place of no return, balls tightening and ready to explode. He needed Anthony to come with him. "_Elskan_," Sören growled. "_Komdu með mér elskan mín. Ég vil að þú komir um allan líkama minn. Þegar ég hella djúpt í þig. Þegar ég rækta þig, fylltu þig._"  
  
"_Ohgod._" Anthony gasped and trembled. "Oh shit, Sören..."  
  
Sören knew that was one of his weaknesses. Sören was relentless, driving into him even harder, shivering with his own need to climax. The slap of his balls alone was enough to make him go out of his mind, never mind the feel of Anthony around him, the sight of him, knowing Anthony was loving this as much as he was... "_Það er rétt, ástin mín. Ég þarf að þú komir fyrir mig. Komdu fyrir mig, núna._"  
  
A few seconds later and Anthony shot over Sören's chest and stomach, pulsing around him. "Sören!" He let out a wordless cry, and then called out again as he quivered. "Sören. _Sören..._"  
  
"Oh god, Anthony." Sören threw back his head and gave a hoarse, triumphant shout as he exploded, throbbing with searing, melting pleasure. Sören laughed and cried, it felt so good, and so right. Everything felt so very right.  
  
Still shaking, Sören sank down. Anthony pulled him close and kissed him, and they rested there on the towel on the rocks, the low tide continuing to push and pull, the sea sparkling and the white cliffs gleaming in the sun. They rubbed noses and shared a few tender little kisses, and Sören listened to Anthony's heartbeat, feeling completely safe and at ease.  
  
Anthony nuzzled Sören's curls, kissed the top of his head. "I love you so much."  
  
Sören looked up at him, _felt_ it so strongly it hurt, tightening his chest and throat, burning his eyes with tears. "I love you."  
  
After laying there awhile longer they reluctantly put their clothes back on and went back to the step to don their footwear and retrieve George. Sören resumed walking him for the remainder of the seawall path, with Anthony every now and again glancing at Sören with the wig on a leash, totally deadpan, and cracking up laughing.  
  
That afternoon Anthony read and Sören felt particularly inspired, starting a second painting of them on his WaCom tablet - the first one had been of them in the garden in Blackheath in springtime, Anthony inside Sören. Now Sören captured the moment in the rock pool at low tide, Anthony on his back on a beach towel, Sören inside him, one of Anthony's legs on Sören's shoulder, the look of love on their faces as they were joined, the look of _awe_ in sharing this moment.  
  
They were both caught up enough in their respective reading and creating that they didn't break until early evening. Sören made dinner and they ate by candlelight, then took a shower together and made love for a few rounds. As Sören drifted off to sleep, he felt like this had been one of the best days of his life.  
  
Thursday's joy gave way to Friday's melancholy. All too soon, this vacation was over, though Sören wouldn't have to go to work until Monday. They went to the beach one last time in the afternoon; Sören sat and looked at the waves, knees drawn up, and Anthony sat behind him, holding him, gently rocking him.  
  
"I almost wish we didn't have to go back," Sören said after awhile.  
  
"I know." Anthony leaned in and kissed his cheek. He sighed and rubbed Sören's shoulder. "I know."


	25. Freedom

It was a typical Saturday morning - Anthony was working on his laptop, and Sören was drawing on his WaCom tablet. Anthony had a disgruntled look on his face as he typed and paused to read, and every now and again let out a little noise of frustration. After this had gone on for awhile Sören put his tablet down for a moment. "You OK?" he asked.  
  
Anthony nodded, though his eyes were narrowed and his brow furrowed. "Yeah, I am. Just..." He made a vague hand gesture at the laptop. "This particular case is challenging." He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. "I hate my job sometimes."  
  
"Well, can you take a break? I mean, it is Saturday, after all."  
  
Sören knew that the answer to that was usually no - that Anthony couldn't relax until a job was finished. He had figured out Anthony was a type A personality early into the relationship and it wasn't always a bad thing; his take-charge attitude and need to be thorough had been a boon more than a hindrance most of the time. But when Sören came home from work he was home, he wasn't taking his job with him, and sometimes he felt like Anthony pushed himself too hard and Sören naturally worried for him. And even though he knew his suggestion to take a break from homework would probably be met with a no, Sören still had to ask anyway, hoping one day it would get through to him.  
  
This time Anthony leaned back and looked at the time, and gave a small nod. "I think I should probably put this aside for a bit, get my mind off it. Then I'll be more fresh when I get back to it."  
  
Sören couldn't help smiling, feeling like he'd accomplished something. "There you go." _September fifteenth, 2012: the day I finally got Anthony Hewlett-Johnson to take a break._  
  
Anthony got up from his desk, stretched, and yawned. He came over to give Sören a kiss and a pat before he walked off down the hall. Sören picked his tablet back up and resumed drawing, and got re-absorbed in the little world he was creating with his stylus rather quickly. A short while later Anthony came back out to the living room, dressed in jeans and a cashmere sweater; Sören paused as he watched Anthony put on his brogues.  
  
"I'm going out for a walk," Anthony said. "To get some air."  
  
"Oh." Sören tapped the stylus. "Do you want me to come with you?"  
  
"Maybe later? Just going for a short walk to clear my head."  
  
"OK."  
  
Sören didn't mind - they didn't have to be joined at the hip all the time - but he was still worried about Anthony, knowing this was such a difficult case for him, and he'd had a lot of those lately. A few minutes after Anthony took off for his walk, Sören stopped drawing and sighed, wishing there was something he could do to make Anthony feel better. Sex was always an obvious choice, but Sören knew Anthony's break was probably only going to be a short one and he wouldn't be able to relax enough for that until later when he had more work done.  
  
Sören did love to make Anthony laugh, and now he found himself getting up and walking to the bedroom. He produced George the wig from the closet, and brought George out to the kitchen. He put on tea in anticipation of when Anthony would get back, and by the time the tea was ready, Anthony came back in. As Sören predicted, Anthony joined him in the kitchen to fix his own tea the way he liked it, and when his cup was done, he paused and did a double-take at George sitting in the blender.  
  
The look on his face was priceless and Sören doubled over the counter, laughing.  
  
"What even..." Anthony also doubled over.  
  
"I guess he got restless and wanted to go exploring," Sören said, completely deadpan.  
  
Anthony narrowed his eyes, but couldn't help smiling.  
  
  
_  
  
  
On Monday, Sören was scheduled to work from late morning to late evening. Anthony was already gone when he woke up, but Sören found another handwritten love note:  
  
_I spent awhile watching you sleep. You look so beautiful._  
  
Sören smiled, gave the note a little kiss - it smelled like Anthony's cologne - and he pressed it to his heart for a moment before he got up and tucked the note away in the hollow book where he kept all of the love notes Anthony had written him and bags of some of the petals from each of the bouquets of flowers Anthony had gotten for him over the course of their relationship thus far.  
  
Anthony was on Sören's mind a lot during his shift; after four PM when Sören was on break, Anthony arrived at the cafe unannounced, and came over with coffee for Sören, who had several more grueling hours to go. For a few minutes Sören just leaned on him, and then after Sören had some coffee, Anthony held him and pet him.  
  
"I miss you," Anthony husked, planting a kiss on Sören's brow.  
  
"I appreciated the note this morning." Sören stroked his cheek.  
  
"Well, it was the truth." Their eyes met. "You're still beautiful."  
  
Sören rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Not like this." He didn't like having his hair up for work, and he felt plain in his scrubs.  
  
"No, even like this. Remember I asked you on a date when you were like this." Anthony gave him a mock stern look. "You can take compliments, you know."  
  
"Well, you look very handsome." Anthony had come straight from work and was in a charcoal grey suit; Sören played with the tie he had given Anthony for Christmas last year, smiling fondly.  
  
Anthony put the coffee back in Sören's hands. "Here," he said. "I thought you could use the boost of caffeine."  
  
"You thought correctly." Sören patted him.  
  
"I'll be by to pick you up when you're off at ten," Anthony said.  
  
"You sure you don't want to just rest for the evening?"  
  
Anthony shrugged. "I don't mind. I want to be able to see you."  
  
Sören sipped coffee, then put the cup down and hugged Anthony tight, feeling that ache in a good way, feeling loved.  
  
Anthony did in fact drive him home, and had dinner ready for him when they got in. Then Sören took a shower and went to bed, exhausted. When Anthony's alarm went off on Tuesday morning he woke Sören up with urgent, feverish kisses and Sören took him hard and fast. After a good orgasm Sören went back to sleep - he was doing the overnight shift tonight and wouldn't have to be up until later. Anthony tucked him in, making Sören smile; a few hours later when Sören woke up again, he saw George sitting on top of the alarm clock with a purposely-messy handwritten note that said MEOW MEOW MOO.  
  
Sören howled with laughter and patted George. "Good boy."  
  
When Anthony got home from work after five, Sören was taking a nap in preparation of his overnight shift; dinner was going in the slow cooker. Sören was woken up to the sound of Anthony laughing in the kitchen and Sören smiled, knowing Anthony had found it. Sure enough, Anthony came in a minute later and leaned against the door frame with his arms folded.  
  
"What is George doing on top of the refrigerator?"  
  
"Probably exploring some more." Sören snickered. "At least it's not the blender this time."  
  
They ate together, and then Anthony rubbed Sören's feet as Sören leaned on him, making happy purring noises. George was sitting on the coffee table now and every now and again Anthony would look at the wig, then at Sören, and start laughing again.  
  
"You're terrible, you know," Anthony said.  
  
"I know."  
  
Anthony wagged his finger at George. "And you. Bad."  
  
Sören kept a straight face, though it was very difficult. "Oh, Anthony, don't be so hard on poor George. Let him have his fun."  
  
Anthony raised an eyebrow at Sören, also trying to be deadpan. "You're a bad influence on him."  
  
"_Takk._"  
  
Then Sören had a truly awful idea. "Do you have court tomorrow?"  
  
Anthony shook his head. "Thursday."  
  
"OK."  
  
Anthony gave Sören a curious look, and Sören continued to play deadpan.  
  
That night before he had to go to work, Sören packed his satchel as usual. But this time he put George in the satchel.  
  
Anthony drove Sören to work, even though it was late. They lingered in the parking lot, cuddling, kissing. Sweet, gentle little kisses became deep and hungry; their tongues playing together got Sören worked up, wishing he didn't have to go in and could just make love to the man he loved. Sören stopped in the bathroom and quickly brought himself off thinking of Anthony fucking him before his shift started.  
  
An hour later Sören got a text from Anthony, with an image attached of Anthony's cock dripping precum, and the text said _thinking of you._ Sören bit his lip and groaned, and ducked into the restroom at the first available opportunity to jerk off again, coming hard at the fantasy of sucking Anthony off, tasting him. Sören took a picture just after orgasm with a dollop of cum leaking from his cock. _Wish you were here,_ Sören sent back.  
  
A few minutes after he sent that picture, Anthony replied with _Now I'm hard again, you naughty thing._  
  
Sören grinned as he fired off _Hi Hard Again You Naughty Thing._  
  
Sören's break wasn't scheduled until seven AM Wednesday morning, which was what time Anthony was commuting to work, so he knew Anthony wouldn't be stopping by for his break. That was just as well. Sören wandered around Queen's Square, needing to get some fresh air, and he took George out of the satchel and took pictures of George in the garden, and one at St. George's Cathedral. He texted the pictures to Anthony, the one with George at the church captioned _Showing George his namesake._  
  
Anthony replied fifteen minutes later. _What in the hell._  
  
Sören had a gigglefit. _He wanted to get out. I can't blame him, he only gets to go out to go to court and that's no fun._  
  
_You are a brat,_ Anthony shot back.  
  
Sören texted back the "innocent" emoji, a smiling face with a halo.  
  
_You're going to get it later._  
  
Sören replied with _Promises, promises._  
  
Sören had Wednesday night off, not having to go back in until Thursday morning. When he got home from work early Wednesday afternoon, he took a shower and got in bed for a nap. He was woken up by the feeling of hair rubbing on his nose, and opened his eyes and saw George in his face. "Prrrp?"  
  
Sören laughed and kissed George, then pulled Anthony down into a little kiss. "Hey," Sören said.  
  
"Hi." Anthony was still fully dressed in his suit, but he wasted no time getting undressed, and crawled into bed with Sören once he was naked.  
  
Anthony drew Sören into his arms and kissed him deeply. Sören moaned, his cock leaping to attention as their tongues licked, teased, and there was that delicious feeling of skin to skin, Anthony's hands on him, their cocks rubbing together. They kissed and kissed - just from kissing, Sören was right on that edge, aching to come. When Anthony began to kiss Sören's neck, Sören heard himself whimper. He bucked up against Anthony, panting, trembling as Anthony's mouth knew exactly where and how to drive Sören crazy. When Anthony licked down Sören's neck, Sören's nails dug into him. "Please," Sören gasped.  
  
Anthony gave Sören that smug little smirk that Sören had come to recognize as Anthony's "dom face" - when he had Sören right where he wanted him, submissive and pliant. Anthony skritched Sören's beard and kissed the tip of his nose, and then he said, "You were very naughty today."  
  
Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. His cock and hole twinged, knowing what he was probably in for. "Oops."  
  
"Mhm." With that, Anthony grabbed Sören and pulled him over his knee. "I think you've earnt twenty spankings."  
  
Sören looked over at him and gave a cheeky grin. "Only twenty?"  
  
Anthony swatted Sören's ass hard enough to make Sören yelp. "That's one." He rubbed Sören's ass - making Sören's hole twitch, needing to be filled - and slapped Sören's ass again, as hard as before. The sting made Sören's cock throb and his balls tighten, pleasure-pain burning through his entire body. Sören moaned and ground against Anthony's thigh.  
  
After twenty of those powerful swats, Anthony rubbed aloe vera on Sören's ass, and the slow, sensual caresses on his sensitized flesh drove Sören crazy, as well as the tenderness after being so forceful. Sören was ready to climb the walls with fierce sexual need, and they had barely begun.  
  
Anthony just held Sören for a few minutes, cradling him, stroking his curls, then he commanded, "Kneel on the floor."  
  
Sören did as he was told, watching Anthony expectantly. Anthony got up and pulled out a scarf they'd started keeping in the bedtable drawer for bondage games. He came over, pulled Sören's arms forward, and bound Sören's wrists together. He had Sören try to pull on the restraint to make sure it was neither too loose nor too tight. When Anthony was satisfied Sören was tied securely, he took a moment to pet Sören's cheek and Sören smiled up at him adoringly.  
  
Then Anthony got back on the bed and lay there, propped up on one elbow, stroking himself idly with his left hand. Sören whined, and gave a more urgent whimper when Anthony started to stroke a little harder and faster.  
  
"I did this last night thinking of you," Anthony said. "Not as good as the real thing, but I still got off."  
  
Sören whimpered again.  
  
"Oh, are you worried that I'm going to just pleasure myself and not give you any?" Anthony gave him that smug little smile again. "You _were_ a very naughty brat, taking my wig with you without permission..." Anthony's thumb began to rub the slit and the frenulum of his cock, and he groaned. "I don't know if little brats like you should get what they want."  
  
"Oh god, please." Sören bit his lip and gave a very undignified whine, his cock throbbing, hole aching, wanting him. "Oh, fuck..."  
  
"Mmmmm, I do like to hear you beg." Their eyes locked. "Beg for me."  
  
"Oh god. Please, Anthony, please. Please... please, brother..."  
  
Being made to beg for it got Sören even hotter. He loved feeling shameless and wanton like this, after having been afraid of sex after what happened in Iceland, so closed off, shut down. He loved being driven crazy with wanting, needing, craving. His cock was dripping precum now... and so was Anthony's. Sören licked his lips, wanting to taste him, but even more than that he wanted to get _fucked_. Hard. They both needed it, with work being so stressful...  
  
"Please, Anthony. Please, brother. Please. _Please._ Oh god, I need it, I want it, I need it so bad, please, please..."  
  
"What do you need, love?" Their eyes met again. "Tell me."  
  
Sören's nipples hardened now too as he begged, "I need your cock. I want your cock, oh god, Anthony, please... please give me your cock, please, please, I want my brother's cock..." A shiver went down Sören's spine, his cock continuing to stiffen and throb, balls tightening.  
  
"You beg so sweetly." Anthony continued stroking himself, Sören's eyes riveted.  
  
"Please. Oh god _please_, Anthony, please, _please_, brother, I want your cock so _fucking_ bad, please, brother, please, please, _please_, pleasepleaseplease..." Sören gave another desperate little whimper.  
  
Anthony moaned, and stopped stroking himself; Sören watched Anthony's cock jolt and couldn't help smiling, knowing this was driving Anthony crazy too. Anthony got up from the bed and came over to Sören, and for a moment they just looked at each other, then Anthony thrust his hips forward and guided Sören's head to his hard cock.  
  
Sören's lips wrapped around it and he watched Anthony as the cock slid into his mouth, inch by inch. Sören's own cock throbbed deliciously as he watched Anthony shudder and his head rolled, letting out a moan as he felt Sören's mouth.  
  
Sören began to suck slowly, watching Anthony, cock pulsing at the heavy breathing, each little hitch of his breath, each soft moan, each sigh. Sören loved sucking cock, and Anthony's cock in particular, wanting to worship the beautiful, perfectly-formed manhood, feeling completely lost in hot male-on-male sex. But he also badly wanted that cock inside him, and Sören began to whimper again with his mouth full, pleading at Anthony with his eyes.  
  
At last Anthony took his cock out of Sören's mouth. "Yes?" He gave Sören an amused look.  
  
"Please, I need your cock..."  
  
"I'm giving you my cock, aren't I?" That smug little smirk again.  
  
Sören made a noise that was half-growl, half-howl. "Inside me. Fuck me. _Please._"  
  
"You mean like this?" Anthony grabbed Sören's head, shoved his cock back in Sören's mouth, and held Sören's head as he began to thrust into Sören's mouth.  
  
Sören _loved_ that, he could almost come just from having his mouth fucked that way, feeling so lusciously slutty. But that wasn't what he'd meant... and Anthony knew it. Their eyes met again and Sören whimpered with his mouth full, gave another whine and another.  
  
Anthony relented, laughing softly as he let his cock slip from Sören's mouth. He picked Sören up off the floor and put him down on the bed, and then Anthony grabbed the lube as he climbed on, and lay on his back. He poured lube onto his hard, flushed, glistening cock and then he reached for Sören's hips and helped Sören climb over him, with Sören's hands still bound.  
  
"Well, now you're going to have as much of this cock as you can take," Anthony said as Sören straddled his hips. "I'm going to fuck you as long as you can stand it. Make you come as much as you can stand it."  
  
"Oh god, yes..." Sören gasped, and moaned as he felt the tip of Anthony's cock push into him.  
  
Anthony gently tugged on the scarf still binding Sören's wrists - not undoing the knots. "Let me know if and when I need to stop."  
  
Sören gave a deep, hungry growl. "Fucking give it to me."  
  
Anthony chuckled, and stopped laughing once he was all the way inside Sören, buried to the hilt. They moaned together, and again when Sören began to work his hips, bouncing on Anthony's cock. Anthony rocked his hips back at Sören, thrusting into him.  
  
Sören rode him to climax after climax, losing count after six. They worked up a sweat, and the sight of each other with damp hair, glistening, the scent and the wet slapping, suctioning sound as loud as their moans and cries, just fueled their lust even hotter. Sören loved losing himself in sex like this, that place where nothing else mattered except their male bodies together, the sweet pleasure of Anthony's cock rubbing just right inside him... nothing else mattered but their hot, needy fuck, mating like two animals. Sören loved being dominated this way, surrendering so completely, perfect trust in the man who gave him so much pleasure, so much passion. Even as Anthony took Sören, possessing him, Sören begged "more, more, oh god, fuck me, don't stop, I need _more_..." This was just as much what Sören wanted, what he craved, being made to ride Anthony over and over, bucking madly to Anthony's savage, punishing thrusts, giving himself so willingly, wantonly. He never felt more alive as when he was getting fucked hard and furious like this, when he was insatiable like this.  
  
And Anthony knew it. "Burn for me, my spirit of fire."  
  
Sören's heart soared, flying, intoxicated, feeling transformed by joy, ecstasy. He was bound but felt so free.  
  
Hours later they were shattered, spent. Sören was deliciously sore, and reveled in that feeling of being sticky inside and out, and well-used. Sweat-soaked, they lay in each other's arms, their legs entwined. Sören's hands were finally unbound and he found himself exploring Anthony's face with his fingers, letting his fingers wander and brush the rest of his body, as if he were painting Anthony to life with his hands, or burning the shape and form of him into his memory.  
  
The next day Sören brought the WaCom tablet in his satchel instead of George, and went outside again on his break, drawing on the tablet. He started a new project - a sketch that would become a painting, of himself on his knees, hands bound, head bowed as if in prayer. Sören remembered that feeling of all-consuming desire last night, blazing... feeling like he was flying. In his mind's eye he saw the finished product on the tablet, flames spreading around him, his naked back and arm molting, growing feathers of fire like the phoenix inked on his skin, some feathers appearing in his mop of curls. Wild, like a bird deity or fire god of some ancient, long-forgotten pantheon.


	26. Under the Weather

After a long week that ended with Sören having to work Thursday night into Friday afternoon, the very last thing Sören wanted to do with his Friday night was go out with Anthony's friends to have drinks, and yet here he was. Between the early darkness in October, the exhaustion, and being bored out of his mind listening to Anthony's friends go on about the latest things they'd spent their money on, Sören was already sleepy; a couple of beers and he started to fade. He leaned against Anthony, and the next thing he knew he was in that half-asleep state where his mind wandered randomly until the world just seemed to disappear.  
  
And then he woke up to Anthony gently tapping him. "Sören, love."  
  
"Wha?" When Sören realized he was in public, he sat up with a start and a gasp.  
  
Trisha laughed like this was the funniest thing in the world.  
  
"I thought about throwing water in your face," Steve said.  
  
Sören shot him a filthy look - that wouldn't have ended well. Before he could say something, Anthony spoke, gritting out, "A bloody good thing you didn't."  
  
"Yeah, well." Steve chuckled. "The snoring was getting a bit much."  
  
"Oh god, I was snoring?" Sören felt mortified, wanting to crawl under the table and die.  
  
Anthony patted him. "Just a little."  
  
Steve snorted and then he started making over-the-top, exaggeratedly loud snoring noises. Jack, Trisha, and Vincente laughed; Steve played it up, snoring even louder. Lawrence looked slightly uncomfortable but didn't say anything.  
  
"Sören did work seventy hours this week," Anthony said. "It was good of him to come along at all."  
  
"That's rough," Jack said. "I don't know how you do it."  
  
"It can be very trying." Sören managed a thin, forced smile. _Not as trying as the lot of you._  
  
"Well, we should probably get home and get you to bed," Anthony said.  
  
_Thank fuck,_ Sören thought to himself, but simply nodded and squeezed Anthony's arm.  
  
"Before you two go, I'm having an impromptu party on the yacht tomorrow night," Jack said. "You know, while it's still October, before it gets too cold for that sort of thing."  
  
Sören had to go to work early tomorrow morning but he would in fact have Saturday night off. He'd been hoping to spend some time with Anthony, just the two of them, relaxing. Being on the yacht around Anthony's friends wasn't his idea of relaxing.  
  
But he didn't want to disappoint Anthony or make him feel suffocated, so he looked at Anthony and let him make the call. Anthony asked, "What time?"  
  
"Eight PM."  
  
"I think we can manage it."  
  
Sören tried to not let his frustration show. _It's just one more night and then we won't be obligated to deal with them again till next month._ But he was _so_ tired and really needed a night that didn't involve dealing with people who weren't Anthony. Nonetheless, he kept it to himself in the car ride home - he didn't want to argue, and he was too exhausted to try to muster resistance anyway. Sören started to fall asleep again in the passenger's seat.  
  
Before they got home, Sören's nap was disturbed by a very loud sneeze from Anthony.  
  
"_Blessi þig_," Sören said without thinking about it.  
  
Anthony sniffled.  
  
"You OK?" Sören asked, not used to hearing Anthony sneeze like that.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine." Anthony nodded, and smiled at Sören, patting him.  
  
"I'm sorry I fell asleep in there," Sören said, though he wasn't, really.  
  
"I feel bad for asking you to come along," Anthony said. "I knew you were tired, but..."  
  
"Oh, it surprised even me." Sören nodded. "It's been a really long week, but I've worked seventy-hour weeks without falling asleep in public before." _Usually because I didn't go out in public. I worked and I went home._  
  
"You know..." Anthony gave him a concerned look. "We don't _have_ to go to Jack's thing tomorrow night -"  
  
As badly as Sören wanted to cling to Anthony and cry out _please, no, let's just stay home,_ he didn't want Anthony to feel like he was missing out on having a life, chained to a partner - not that Anthony had ever given that impression, but Sören knew that before they got together he'd been more socially active. And as much as Sören didn't like Anthony's friends and felt he could do better, Sören understood the bullied kid inside him needed to feel like he had a clique.  
  
But Sören didn't want to encourage him to go, either. So he said only, "We'll see what we're up for, I guess."  
  
Anthony nodded, and then he sneezed again.  
  
By the time they got upstairs, Anthony was sniffling enough that Sören wondered if he was coming down with something... or perhaps had a chemical sensitivity to fragrances and hair care products people had on in the bar. Anthony put on tea when they came inside.  
  
"Do you want me to draw you a hot bath?" Anthony asked.  
  
Sören would normally take him up on the offer any other night - taking bubble baths was one of his favorite things, and especially when Anthony joined him. But tonight he was too tired even for that. He would have some tea to warm his bones, feeling a little self-conscious that he was a bit chilly when it was only October and not cold by Icelandic standards, and Sören usually ran warm to begin with. But then Sören just wanted to go to bed and sleep till he had to wake up at five to get ready for a seven AM start. "Not tonight, I'll shower in the morning."  
  
They had tea, brushed their teeth and got in their pajamas, and Anthony followed Sören to bed. They cuddled up together and Anthony sniffled some more. He now looked as tired as Sören felt, and it was telling he wasn't trying to initiate sex, not even a blowjob.  
  
"Are you sure you're OK?" Sören asked.  
  
"Yes." Anthony kissed his cheek and tightened his arms around him.  
  
"OK." Sören wasn't sure, but he wasn't going to press it just yet. He tousled Anthony's hair - he could get away with that. "I love you, _elskan._"  
  
"I love you." Anthony squeezed him and rocked him a little. Then he chuckled.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You were cute, falling asleep in there."  
  
"I can't believe I was snoring in public."  
  
"It wasn't as bad as Steve made it sound."  
  
"Steve's a jackass." Sören was too tired to keep that opinion to himself.  
  
"Yeah, he is." Anthony sighed. "I would have punched him if he'd thrown water at you."  
  
"Yeah, that shit isn't funny."  
  
Anthony patted him. "But he didn't."  
  
_No, not this time._ And Sören suddenly felt a twinge of concern about going out with them again when he was this tired, if he ended up falling asleep in front of them.  
  
"And he knows, now, I hope my tone sent him a message." Anthony rubbed Sören's curls and kissed the top of his head.  
  
_I hope so too._ But Sören felt like that shouldn't have even had to be said, like it was just plain courtesy to not throw water in someone's face. Steve's callousness in general had never endeared him, but Sören felt like a line had been crossed and it bothered him that Anthony associated with Steve at all.  
  
_I don't want to come off as controlling and say "you can't be friends with him." I don't want to be that guy._  
  
Sören also didn't want to think about serious things when he was this tired. It was enough, for the moment, that they were back home, safe in their nest. Sören snuggled closer to Anthony, and soon enough he was back asleep.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Anthony and Sören both groaned when the alarm went off at five the next morning. Sören had never been a morning person but it was even more difficult than usual to get ready this morning, he was still exhausted despite having gone early to bed (for him) and having gotten a full night's sleep.  
  
Anthony _was_ a morning person, but for once he also seemed like he was having trouble waking up and would rather go back to bed. Anthony had a pained look on his face over breakfast and every now and again made little noises of discomfort. Sören knew he wasn't hungover - since Anthony had been driving, he'd limited his alcohol intake.  
  
Anthony still escorted Sören out to the Audi when it was time for Sören to leave for work. "Are you very sure you want to drive this morning?" Sören asked, concerned. "I can take the Tube -"  
  
Anthony shook his head. "I can drive you."  
  
In the parking lot of National they lingered, as they did, clinging to each other. Anthony made another little discomfort noise into Sören's shoulder.  
  
"Are you OK?" Sören cupped Anthony's chin in his hand.  
  
"I'm fine." Anthony managed a thin smile and patted him. "I had a rough week last week too, just... worn out, I think."  
  
"OK." Sören kissed the tip of his nose.  
  
But while Sören was at work, he still worried. He'd seen what Anthony was like stressed out and even exhausted, and this seemed a bit above and beyond what was normal for him. Sören wondered again if Anthony was ill, and wondered if maybe he shouldn't be at work right now, potentially passing on whatever it was.  
  
He didn't have to wonder anymore four hours later, when Sören was on his first break and had a sneezing attack in the break room, and when he got up to get tissues he hurt all over, and was starting to feel too warm.  
  
Ed came in when Sören was wiping his now-runny nose, took one look at him and said, "Sigurðsson, go home."  
  
Before Sören could apologize - even though he didn't ask to be sick, and he'd gotten a flu shot and everything - he sneezed again, and when the sneezing was over he just nodded and scrubbed out.  
  
Sören texted Anthony. _On my way home, I'm sick._  
  
Anthony texted back five minutes later. _Me too. I'd come get you but I'm camped out in the bathroom at the moment._  
  
Sören sighed - he wasn't mad at Anthony, he didn't ask for it either, but Sören knew it would be hard enough if just one of them had flu, they were in for a difficult few days if they both had it. Sören also knew they were going to need some groceries to survive the next week, and as much as he didn't want to expose the public, he was in a better position than Anthony to go out and get provisions. _You stay there, I'll be home soon._  
  
Sören wore a mask and gloves at the supermarket, picking up Gatorade and orange juice and soups and saltine crackers and bread for toast, and over-the-counter cold medicine. A few people paused in their tracks and gave him strange looks, obviously not used to the sight of someone in medical scrubs with a mask and gloves at the store. The cashier was especially leery, but the worst part of all was the ride home, where people kept a wide berth as they could in a tight train car and shot him filthy glances, like he was a plague carrier.  
  
By the time Sören got home he had chills bad enough that he was shaking, and his stomach roiled up the flight of stairs. He almost didn't make it to the bathroom, which was thankfully empty.  
  
Once he was done and washed up, he went back to the kitchen to put the groceries away. Every part of him ached. He managed to make tea, and assembled a tray of tea, Gatorade and saltines, putting it on the bedtable before crawling into bed. Anthony was buried in covers and made a pathetic little noise in greeting when Sören got in the bed. Sören chuckled softly and patted him; Anthony moved the covers to give Sören half. Sören handed him a cup of tea and Anthony sat up weakly and leaned on him to drink.  
  
"How are you doing?" Sören asked.  
  
"Terrible." Anthony sniffled.  
  
Sören pressed a hand to his cheek - he was too warm. Sören kissed him, got up, his body complaining all the way, went back to the bathroom to the medicine cabinet, and came back with the cold medicine and a thermometer. He took Anthony's temp then his own; they were both running mild fevers.  
  
Sören was bone-tired and hurt all over, the ache made worse by the trembling with chills. Then when he tried to sleep, he was too hot and didn't sleep long, sweaty and uncomfortable. Anthony was having the same trouble. They made grumpy noises together, stuck in that place of not really being able to sleep but being too achy and head-muddled to actually do anything. They ended up putting on the TV and zoning out while they waited for the cold-and-flu medicine to kick in. There was a block of bad classic sci-fi movies airing and they lay there, somewhat high, watching _Highlander II_ and then _Plan 9 From Outer Space_. The latter had them in hysterics, with the cheesiness of it amplified under the influence of the cold medicine.  
  
Then they lay there, cuddling, huddled for warmth as they had another bout of chills, giving them both gooseflesh. "I hate this," Anthony moaned, his teeth chattering.  
  
"Shhh, I know. Soon we can take another dose of cold meds and hopefully that'll knock us both out for awhile."  
  
"Soon?" Anthony made a little whine. "That's forever."  
  
Sören chuckled. "Remember that future events will affect you in the future."  
  
Anthony laughed, and then he moaned, "_Ow._"  
  
"Awwwwww." Sören passed him a Gatorade. "Here. We both need to keep hydrated."  
  
They took turns nipping from the bottle and then they sunk back under the covers. Sören's entire body throbbed, protesting even the smallest movements.  
  
Sören called out for Sunday and Monday just to be on the safe side, hoping he wouldn't have to call out beyond that. After the call ended, Anthony said, "I already told Jack tonight is a no-go."  
  
"Good." Sören climbed back under the covers.  
  
Sören thought it was really something that even as awful as he felt, he was still having a better time than he probably would have had on Jack's yacht. Sören rolled closer to Anthony, who put an arm around him. "I liked watching bad sci-fi movies with you."  
  
"Yeah, me too." Anthony gave him a little kiss. "We should do that again when we're feeling better."  
  
"We could make something of a tradition out of it. If we're both going to be home on a Saturday night, we could watch terrible movies together."  
  
"I like that idea."  
  
After the next dose of cold-and-flu medicine they attempted more sleep. Sören burned up, waking up too hot and frantically throwing the covers off, then frantically pulling them back over him when he started shivering again. He ran to the bathroom in the middle of the night and then had to run back a short while later, and after the third run, when his body felt too achy and weak to keep doing this he just lay there on the cool linoleum floor of the bathroom, waiting for the next stomach attack. He ended up dozing off on the bathroom floor, and when Anthony opened the bathroom door it woke Sören up, and Sören was now even more painfully stiff from having slept on the bathroom floor for awhile. Sören started to cry, feeling irrational.  
  
"Oh, honey." Anthony helped Sören up, and held him for a minute. Then Anthony grimaced and Sören knew why he'd come in the bathroom. Anthony quickly dropped to his knees in front of the toilet.  
  
Now it was Anthony's turn to cry. "Oh god." When Sören gave him a cup of water, Anthony sobbed on Sören's shoulder. "Oh god, I'm so sorry you saw that..."  
  
Sören patted him. "I'm a doctor. I've seen far worse. I could tell you stories of what people have done in front of me -"  
  
"I bet, but... still. That was decidedly unsexy."  
  
Sören smoothed Anthony's sweat-damp hair and kissed his brow. "I love you. Neither of us are glamour models right now, but that doesn't matter to me." What did matter was that Sören knew what Anthony's gut was doing to him - Sören's stomach had been doing the same thing - and Anthony still took a moment when he was having stomach cramps and the urge to be sick, and held Sören because Sören had been crying. Sören felt that tight ache in his chest, loving Anthony fiercely. "We're in this together," Sören husked, petting him.  
  
They leaned on each other and supported each other on the way back to the bed, weak and exhausted. When they climbed back in the bed Anthony made more noises of discomfort. Sören brought over a bottle of Gatorade and began to open a packet of saltines.  
  
"Ugh, I'm not hungry," Anthony moaned.  
  
"Neither am I, but we haven't eaten since yesterday morning breakfast and we need to get our strength up." Sören shoved a cracker into Anthony's mouth.  
  
They were due for another dose of cold-and-flu medication and once that was taken, they pulled up the covers and clung to each other. Sören had another bout of chills, and he could feel Anthony shivering as well. Then the searing heat came back as Sören slipped back into sleep.  
  
  
_  
  
Sören is in the body not his own again, impossibly tall, impossibly long dark hair. He is in a forge, his workshop. Instead of hammering steel he is making glass.  
  
And not just any glass, but a jewel. Something like a diamond, but even brighter... like a small lamp.  
  
Like a small sun. Like a small supernova. Brighter and brighter.  
  
There is not just the physical process of making glass, but also magic involved. He is in a trance and pushing energy, pushing energy, weaving light, fire from within.  
  
He is utterly consumed with the process, spending hours, days, forsaking food, sleep, breathing and breathing into the stone. _The breath of fire._  
  
Other people are trying to get him to come out of his workshop, worried for him. Every part of him aches, like the way he was aching now sick. He is feverish, burning up, drenched and dripping sweat, mouth parched, the forge too hot. He needs water. He needs air. But he needs this more. His tribute to his brother-lovers, the way he feels for them. _Carry the fire. Carry the Light._  
  
_  
  
  
Sören woke to the sound of bells chiming, and a horrible buzzing. It wasn't from a distance, but right there in the bedroom. Sören made a noise and buried his face into the pillow. The pillowcase and sheets were drenched with sweat, and so was Sören's T-shirt and boxer-briefs. He felt absolutely disgusting.  
  
The chiming and buzzing continued and then Sören opened one eye as Anthony swore under his breath; he watched Anthony grab his phone.  
  
"Hello, Mum."  
  
Sören managed a smile, despite his grumpy mood.  
  
"Ugh, Sören and I both have flu, I think." Anthony paused, and Sören could hear Elaine's voice rising, rapid-fire. Anthony facepalmed and then opened his fingers to glance at Sören between them, and Anthony muttered, "No, Mum, you don't have to come over. Sören stopped at the store before he came home yesterday..." Elaine went on, and then Anthony said, "No, Mum, really, and you know flu is more dangerous for the elderly -"  
  
Sören could hear, clear as day, "_You're only as old as you feel, Cornelius Anthony._"  
  
Sören tried not to laugh. Anthony rolled his eyes and said, "Mum, please, don't go out of your way..." And then Sören heard Elaine say, "I'm coming over and that's it. I'll be there soon."  
  
An hour later, Elaine let herself in with a key; Sören was surprised to hear the key in the door. "Yes, I let Mum have a key, in case anything... happens," Anthony said.  
  
"Hellooooooooo," Elaine called as she walked in. "Where are my boys?"  
  
"In the bedroom, Mum."  
  
"Are you decent?"  
  
Anthony snorted. "We're ill, Mum, I think it's safe to say nothing is happening currently."  
  
Elaine ducked her head in and waved to Sören. "Hi, Sören. I'll only be here a few hours, to help with any chores you might need and to make homemade chicken soup."  
  
Sören loved Elaine. "That's very good of you, _takk_. I hope this isn't inconveniencing you too much -"  
  
Elaine waved her hand dismissively. "Nonsense. I was going to invite you both over for Sunday dinner but now Sunday dinner comes to you."  
  
Elaine changed the bed while Anthony and Sören sat and waited - Sören felt self-conscious about Elaine doing this for them, and he could tell Anthony did too, but Sören was almost too weak to get to the bathroom by himself, never mind the task of changing the sheets. After Anthony and Sören climbed back in bed, Elaine tucked them in, and carried the freshly stripped bed linens out to the washer and dryer space in the pantry. Sören heard the washer machine start and then he heard Elaine get to work in the kitchen.  
  
Sören tried to get back to sleep but couldn't, feeling too achy. Anthony didn't look happy either. They curled up together, sniffling, and went back and forth to the bathroom. The TV went on again but they couldn't pay attention, drifting in and out of that half-sleep state, still all too awake. At last Elaine came in. "Do you want soup now, or later?"  
  
Sören and Anthony looked at each other. Sören still didn't have an appetite, but he knew they needed to eat something. "Now, if that's OK."  
  
Elaine brought them soup. Though Sören's nose was stuffed up, what he could smell of it was heavenly, and he wished he had better sense of smell and taste to enjoy it more. Elaine cleaned the bathroom as they ate, and when they were finished she took their dishes and Sören and Anthony huddled back under the covers as Elaine ran the sink and the dishwasher.  
  
Finally Elaine came back in and said, "There's leftover soup in the fridge. I made plenty, so you should have enough for the next couple of days."  
  
"Thank you, Mum." Anthony frowned. "I hope you don't get sick."  
  
"I've had the flu shot," Elaine said, "and I wash my hands."  
  
"I did that too," Sören said.  
  
"You also run yourself into the ground every week, Sören." Elaine gave him a stern look and then she patted his head. "I left you guys some fruit, there's bananas and oranges in the kitchen."  
  
Elaine tucked them in again and then she was off. Sören ended up disturbing the nice tucking in by needing to go to the bathroom again, and then it was Anthony's turn, and then they had chills. They shared a Gatorade and made noises as they cuddled again. Sören started to doze, and then he felt Anthony shaking, heard the distinct sound of crying. He opened his eyes and pet Anthony's hair. "I know, _elskan._ We'll feel better soon." He kissed Anthony's cheek.  
  
"It's not that."  
  
"Hm?" Sören felt a sharp pang of worry.  
  
Anthony sighed. He tried to not start crying again, but there it was, with him feeling too weak to resist. "You ever have fucked up dreams on cold medicine?"  
  
Sören nodded. He wouldn't classify the forge dream as "fucked up" - more unusual - but it was unsettling anyway, another one of those dreams that felt real, like he was living it.  
  
"I dreamt you were on fire." Their eyes locked. Tears slid down Anthony's face. "You were on fire, you were burning to ash... and I wasn't there. I was far away, too far to be able to get out to you, and... I _couldn't_, even without the distance. Like something... was... keeping me wherever I was. But I _felt_ it. I saw it, as it was happening, like a vision that I couldn't escape." Anthony started sobbing. "I felt you burning, I felt you dying, and it was awful."  
  
"Oh, Anthony." Sören rocked him. "It was just a dream." But even as those words were out of his mouth, Sören knew better. Sören had been plagued by recurring nightmares of burning to death since he was four years old. He hadn't had one in some time, but they were vivid and intense enough for Sören to never forget them. This, now, was yet another case of _something_ shared between them, but Sören didn't know what. He had more questions than answers, and he was afraid of the answers to these questions.  
  
Anthony cried on Sören's shoulder and his arms tightened around Sören. "I can't lose you again."  
  
"I'm not going anywhere." Sören rocked him, rubbed his back. "I'm right here." And he wondered at the wording - _lose you again_ \- as if Anthony's intuition had declared that dream was from the past.  
  
"Stay with me." Anthony held Sören tight enough to hurt, shaking, crying so brokenly it brought tears to Sören's own eyes. "Stay..."  
  
"I'm right here, Anthony." Sören closed his eyes, trying to fight the urge to sob too, crying more quietly. "You've got me." _You've got me for the rest of your life, if you want me._ But Sören didn't say those words out loud. He just continued to rock Anthony until they both fell back asleep.  
  
  
_  
  
  
The next few days passed in a blur. Ed wouldn't let Sören come in before Thursday, regardless of how Sören was feeling, wanting to make sure he wasn't still contagious, which could be a problem when operating. Anthony was also hit hard enough by the flu to take Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday off, and he spent much of Monday and Tuesday just sleeping. Sören watched him sleep at the times when he woke up and Anthony was still sleeping, admiring how peaceful and downright innocent he looked... hoping that he wasn't having more of those nightmares.  
  
On Wednesday Sören and Anthony weren't quite fully recovered yet, but the fevers had finally broken and they managed to strip the bed again and put the sweat-soaked sheets in the wash, with fresh sheets on the bed. Then Sören prepared two basins of water, one with soap and one without, so they could sponge bathe, since they were still too weak as yet to shower. Sören sponged Anthony first, rubbing in slow, gentle circles. Anthony melted to Sören's touch like a cat being stroked, and as terrible as he felt Sören couldn't help ogling Anthony naked, his own body responding when Anthony hardened to the sponge washing his erogenous zones. When Sören washed Anthony's cock he gasped and moaned, and Sören's cock twinged. As Sören did the back of him he couldn't help trailing kisses down the nicely defined back, and when Anthony moaned again at the sponge on his ass, Sören cursed feeling too ill to give him a proper fucking.  
  
Anthony washed Sören next, giving the same tender loving care, and Sören's arousal deepened as Anthony worked the sponge over every place he knew Sören was sensitive - neck, nipples, stomach, thighs. When the sponge was on his cock and balls Sören's breath hitched and he made a guttural noise, and when the sponge was on his ass, Sören let out a whimper into the pillows.  
  
They were definitely both too exhausted for anything strenuous, but under the covers they kissed, hands roaming as their cocks slid together, and when they got closer Sören took them both in his fist, stroking as the kisses got hungrier, more feverish. They were undone within a few minutes, coming together with a cry, and they rocked together through their orgasm, kissing, petting.  
  
"I love you," Anthony husked.  
  
"I love you too."  
  
Anthony laughed as he snuggled on Sören's shoulder. "Thank you for that."  
  
"The pleasure was mine." Sören kissed his cheek.  
  
A little while later they managed to put on fresh pajamas and Sören heated them up some soup. They ate soup and saltines in bed, feeding each other spoonfuls. After the soup was finished they cuddled and Anthony moaned, "I don't want to go back to work tomorrow."  
  
"I feel that." Sören sighed; Elaine's words about running himself into the ground stuck with him. "We need another vacation."  
  
"Well, it's your birthday in a month." Anthony looked into his eyes. "And our one-year anniversary."  
  
"That fast?" Sören gave a throaty chuckle. It felt paradoxically both like it had been longer and shorter than that.  
  
Anthony nodded solemnly. "You think about where you want to go - I will take you anywhere you want, and I mean that, we just need to clear that entire week."  
  
"I can't think about it now. I can barely remember my own name."  
  
Anthony patted him. "That's why I said 'think'. I'm not expecting an answer right now, when we're both feeling so crap."  
  
"Well, thank you." Sören squeezed him, and once again felt like he had the best boyfriend in the world. "You're so good to me."  
  
"I hope so. You deserve it." Anthony gave him a mock stern look. "Even if you do try my patience sometimes."  
  
"Oh, you love it." Sören glanced around, feeling mischievous. "Poor George, shut away while his parents are sick. We should take him out and get him some air."  
  
Anthony rolled his eyes and chuckled. "George does not need air."  
  
"He's not a fish, he doesn't breathe water." Sören couldn't resist. "Even if he does hang out with a shark."  
  
Anthony buried his face in the pillow and made noises. When he picked his face back up he said, "Well now I know you must be feeling at least a little better, if you can harass me about my wig."  
  
"We could get some air," Sören said. "Might be good for us."  
  
"Right. Bathroom first."  
  
While Anthony was in the bathroom, Sören grabbed George. Anthony was feeling out of it enough that he either didn't notice Sören had the wig or didn't care to remark on it, hobbling downstairs behind Sören. They stepped out onto the sidewalk in their pajamas, watching the sunset together. Anthony put an arm around Sören and leaned on him, and then finally he saw George and looked up at Sören, then back at the wig, then back at Sören, and facepalmed, shaking with silent laughter.  
  
"You're terrible," Anthony said.  
  
"_Takk._"  
  
Back upstairs, Sören put the wig on the bedtable with Finn and Tony. Anthony laughed, and then he sighed. "I really, really don't want to go to work tomorrow," Anthony said.  
  
"But you're going to anyway."  
  
Anthony nodded. "I have to wonder if I got flu this early into the season because, you know. Stress making me more susceptible."  
  
"That's more likely than you think." Sören sighed and put an arm around him. "We're both worn out. All the time."  
  
"It's like my immune system wanted to give me an excuse to spend time with you, away from it all." Their eyes met.  
  
Sören felt a tight lump in his throat and he pulled Anthony into as strong a hug as he could muster, as weak as he still was. They held each other for a minute and then Sören had an idea, an echo from something he'd done for Anthony months ago, after the bomb threat at his chambers.  
  
When Anthony got in bed, and gave Sören an expectant look to join him, Sören made a fortress of blankets and pillows not in use. He ducked in by lifting up a blanket, and rolled in next to Anthony. "There. At least for tonight, we can take a vacation from the world out there. Nothing can bother us in here."  
  
Anthony gave Sören a long look - for a moment his eyes were too bright, and Sören wondered if he was going to start crying again - and then he grabbed Sören and kissed him hard. Sören pulled up the covers around them and they held each other, rocking together; Sören brought over Finn and Tony. "We're safe here," Sören whispered again, and they kissed.


	27. Blood Of My Blood

Anthony had a big court case on Tuesday, November thirteenth. That weekend he'd gone to get his hair cut and get waxed, which he did at least once a month, and now on Monday night he was taking care of some things the night before, like showering, so he could try to maximize his sleep time before going in - or at least try to; Sören had been with him long enough now to know Anthony struggled with insomnia when he had difficult cases.  
  
Sören showered with Anthony, which was one of his favorite things to do, and as usual they got frisky in the shower, playing with each other's cocks, letting their cocks rub together as they kissed and sensually lathered each other. Sören was horny enough when they got out of the shower that he wanted to march off straight to bed and make Anthony forget about everything for awhile, make Anthony forget his own name, but Anthony laughed at Sören's feverish kisses and nibbles and said, "Soon. I have to shave first."  
  
"You don't get your face waxed when you get the rest of you waxed?"  
  
Anthony shook his head. "No." He ran a washcloth in hot water under the sink and put it on the lower half of his face as he got his supplies ready, soaking his shaving brush in hot water, then he dumped out the water in his shaving mug and added a dollop of shaving cream. Sören leaned in to breathe in the scent, which made Anthony chuckle. Then Sören raised an eyebrow at him, still curious. Anthony produced his straight razor. "My uncle Nigel taught me to shave and, well... this was his." He exhaled sharply.  
  
In the almost-year they had been together, this was the first time Anthony had mentioned his straight razor had been his beloved uncle's. There was something intimate about that revelation, as if Anthony had ripped open a piece of his soul.  
  
"So, I'm not religious at all, but I suppose this is sort of a ritual, a thing I do in remembrance of him." Anthony began to strop the blade, as Sören watched. When the blade had been stropped, their eyes met - Sören had never watched Anthony shave the entire way through before, and Sören wondered if he should leave, if this was too private. Seeming to know what Sören was thinking, Anthony said, "You can stay and watch."  
  
"OK." Sören nodded. He couldn't help grinning.   
  
"Though..." Anthony glanced down at Sören's cock. "You might want to put on a towel, that's too distracting." His cheeks turned pink.  
  
Sören giggled and wrapped a towel around his waist, and then he handed one over to Anthony. "This'll be interesting," Sören said once they had towels around their waists. "I don't shave -"  
  
"Obviously."  
  
Sören laughed, feeling like an idiot, but he was shy all of a sudden, being trusted with something so personal. "It looks good on you, though, and... well... it's interesting to me." That felt trite to say, especially since he'd just said it was interesting, but he couldn't think of another way to put it. He had a sort of scientific curiosity about it.  
  
"I don't think I'd look good with a beard. You, on the other hand, look fabulous with one." Anthony chuckled and affectionately skritched Sören's damp whiskers. "I don't think I could picture you clean-shaven."  
  
"I have really old photos of myself somewhere. I look like a girl. I started growing a beard in 2005, when I was twenty, haven't looked back."  
  
"Well, I like you the way you are."  
  
Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. "I like you the way you are too." Then he tested the waters. "Though you know, if you wanted to stop waxing... I wouldn't mind." Sören liked a healthy growth of body hair on a man, but he didn't want Anthony to feel insecure about himself.  
  
"We'll see," Anthony said noncommittally. "I get very hairy if I let it go - I'm what the gay community calls an otter - so you might say you don't mind now, but you might mind."  
  
Sören wanted to reply with _do you think I'm that fucking superficial?_, feeling ever so slightly offended, but he kept it to himself, knowing that Anthony's discomfort wasn't about him, but was probably about experiences Anthony had before he started getting waxed. Sören wondered what had happened, and wished there was something he could do to make Anthony feel a little more secure. In the meantime, there was this.  
  
Anthony began to put pre-shave oil on his face and again, Sören breathed in the scent, deliciously masculine. His cock throbbed, wanting man-on-man sex, but he restrained himself, knowing Anthony wanted to get this done even though he wasn't particularly whiskery at the moment. After the pre-shave oil Anthony put on shaving cream and then he took the blade in his hand... and he paused. He glanced over at Sören.  
  
"Should I leave? Am I making you nervous?" Sören asked.  
  
Anthony shook his head. He held out the straight razor to Sören. "You want to shave me?"  
  
Sören swallowed - now he was the nervous one. "That's... that's pretty sharp. I could seriously hurt you with this."  
  
"Yes, you could." Anthony nodded. "But you perform surgery for a living and I daresay you do a pretty good job of it - I haven't had to defend you for malpractice yet..." He winked, and Sören snorted and gave him a playful swat. Then Anthony's grin faded into a small, boyish smile. Their eyes met once more. "And I trust you with my life," Anthony husked.  
  
Sören wanted to grab him and kiss him, but it wasn't the time for that. Sören gave a little cough, fighting off tears, and he took the razor from Anthony. "I've never used one of these."  
  
"Here." Anthony guided Sören's hand, showing him how to grip, placing Sören's thumb under the blade on the shank, and his index, middle and ring fingers opposite, pinky on the outside of the handle where his thumb was. "Now then, you're going to hold the blade at an angle - not flat against the skin or directly pointed at it. Blade points downwards." He gestured, demonstrating with his hand. "And you stroke downwards. Use your free hand to, uh, stretch the skin."  
  
"O..OK." Sören still felt nervous, not wanting to cut him, but he reminded himself he _did_ perform surgery and though that was very different, this also was less difficult than what he had to do every day.  
  
"Start with the sides of my face. Rinse off the blade after each stroke." Anthony turned the faucet on.  
  
Sören moved in closer, and held the blade to Anthony's face at an angle. "Yes," Anthony said, and waited. With Sören's free hand he pushed on the skin near where he was holding the blade, pulling up to make it more flat. Then he began to work the blade downwards in one smooth, controlled motion. He rinsed off the blade and brought it back, bringing the blade down again, rinsing and down again. Sören noticed he was holding his breath, focusing as hard as he could. One side emerged uncut, and then the other.  
  
"Now the upper lip and the chin." Anthony pulled his lips tight. Sören used shorter, gentler strokes here, going even more carefully than before.  
  
"Now under the jaw and down the neck." Anthony tilted his head back.  
  
It was here where Anthony's life was literally in Sören's hands - Sören could cut his throat like this. But of course Sören wouldn't do that, stroking and rinsing, going as carefully and precisely as he could.  
  
After that Sören thought he was done but then Anthony said, "Now for round two. This time you're going from side to side, from my ears to the center." Anthony rinsed his face and lathered again. Sören took a deep breath and did as he was told, going more gently than before.  
  
They still weren't done after the second round. "One more time," Anthony said. "This time neck up." He re-lathered and tilted his head again.  
  
Once again Sören had that feeling of Anthony's life being in his hands, as the blade passed along the skin. Despite Sören's intense focus and the touch of anxiety, not wanting to hurt him, Sören's cock was rock-hard and aching, finding it an erotic charge to be trusted in this way. He felt closer to Anthony than ever before, and his body wanted to act on that feeling of love. But Sören made himself concentrate, the blade stroking up and up and up until it was done.  
  
Anthony rinsed his face with cold water and applied aftershave with gentle pats. It was the aftershave, that Sören recognized too well, and got his libido going even more urgently. Anthony gave Sören a kiss, and Sören reached out to touch Anthony's face, feeling the smooth skin, smiling at his handiwork, pleased that he hadn't made any nicks.  
  
"See?" Anthony began to dry off the blade. "I told you I trusted you."  
  
"You did." And then Sören felt mischievous, his libido getting the better of him. The blade was giving him kinky ideas - ideas he wouldn't have thought possible, but then, Anthony had opened his mind to a world of kinky ideas. "You're awfully trusting for someone who deals with criminals for a living."  
  
"Well, I know a trustworthy person when I see one." Anthony stroked Sören's cheek and looked into his eyes. "I trust you with my heart, and I mean what I said - I trust you with my life."  
  
"Do you?" And then Sören took the blade from Anthony before he could put it away, and held the blade to Anthony's throat.  
  
Anthony didn't waver. "I do." Anthony's voice was husky again. "Completely and absolutely."  
  
Sören kissed him deep and hard... keeping the blade to Anthony's throat. Anthony moaned into the kiss, and moaned again when Sören's free hand wandered, brushing from Anthony's chest down to the bulge tenting the towel around his waist.  
  
Sören began to march Anthony backward, continuing to kiss him, continuing to keep the blade to his throat. They let the towels drop to the bedroom floor and kissed their way to the bed. Sören kept the blade on him as Anthony climbed onto the bed, and then Sören settled on top of him, holding the blade to Anthony's throat as he started to kiss Anthony's neck.  
  
Their eyes met. "I would never hurt you," Sören rasped, before he nibbled at Anthony's neck.  
  
Sören knew Anthony was very dominant, and had an aversion to being tied up himself, while he enjoyed tying up Sören. But this was different - Anthony seemed to really get into this, and Sören was getting more and more aroused by his trust, his vulnerability, his surrender. Their mouths met feverishly, hungry, devouring kisses before Sören kissed and licked his neck some more. Anthony groaned and reached for the lube on their bedtable. Sören gasped as he felt the cool liquid of the lubricant pour over his cock. Anthony stroked Sören's cock, working it in. "Fuck me," he whispered.  
  
Sören took him, pushing into him with the blade still at his throat, their foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's breath, Anthony looking up at him with trust and love in his eyes. When Sören bottomed out inside him they kissed, and Anthony wrapped his arms and legs around Sören, holding Sören with all of him.  
  
Sören started to thrust inside him slowly, smiling when Anthony cried out, feeling the bead in the ring of Sören's cock. "Oh god." Anthony's nails dug into Sören's back. "Oh god, Sören..."  
  
"I love you," Sören husked, using his free hand to stroke Anthony's damp hair, stroke his cheek. He gave Anthony a sweet, soft kiss, then kissed him more deeply, fiercely. "I love you so much." They kissed again. "I would never hurt you. Never, ever, ever hurt you..." Sören let the blade drag along Anthony's throat from side to side, then down to his sternum and back up. "You're mine." Sören looked into his eyes. "My brother."  
  
"Sören..." Anthony shuddered, and let out a little moan. He rocked his hips against Sören's, urging him on faster.  
  
Sören matched his rhythm, continuing to drag the blade over Anthony's throat, down to his chest and back up, following the wake of the blade with kisses. Sören deliberately nicked a little here and there, drawing blood, and his tongue licked it. Anthony howled and his nails raked Sören's back - also drawing blood - and he rocked back at Sören harder.  
  
"Yes. Mine." Sören kissed where he had cut, thrusting into Anthony faster, harder, claiming him. He held the blade more firmly at Anthony's throat, letting him feel the bite of the blade without cutting him, and now his teeth were on Anthony's shoulder, nibbling down to his chest and back up, driving into him even harder. The silken heat rubbing around his cock and the way Anthony was moaning and bucking underneath him, the sweet sting of Anthony's nails in his back, and the power trip of Anthony surrendering like this, all combined in a way that brought the beast out in Sören, pounding him into the mattress. Sören moaned as he heard his balls smacking against Anthony's ass, and he reached down to play with Anthony's hard cock, completely slick from precum, knowing he wasn't going to last much longer, wanting to bring Anthony off first.  
  
"Oh god Sören. Oh god. Ohgodohgod. _Sören._" Anthony shivered and made a guttural noise. "I'm so close..."  
  
"Yes, you love this, don't you? Because you know you're safe with me. You know who you belong to..." Sören couldn't resist. "You're my brother."  
  
"Oh _fuck_."  
  
Sören kissed him, and gave it all he had, thrusting as hard and fast as he could, the velvet grip around him too delicious to bear. Sören shivered as he fought off his release, and again when Anthony cried out into the kiss. A moment later Anthony lost it, giving a hoarse shout as he spilled over Sören's stomach, trembling, giving a shuddery sigh. At the look of ecstasy on his lover's face Sören let go, crying out as his orgasm erupted, pleasure throbbing and throbbing. They kissed, moaning into the kiss, and Sören put the straight razor down and rolled onto his side, taking Anthony with him, holding him tight.  
  
Sören slipped out of him and rested on Anthony's shoulder, dozing off a little. He came to awhile later with Anthony petting his curls... and then he felt the blade at his throat.  
  
Anthony claimed his mouth, kissing him hard, and then Anthony rolled Sören onto his back. He grabbed the lube with his free hand and slick fingers went into Sören as the blade bit into him. "Turnabout is fair play, you know."  
  
Sören grinned, and kissed Anthony back. "Mmmmmmmmm."  
  
"And you trust me, don't you... brother?" Anthony's eyes were fierce, dangerous. Sören's cock woke back up.  
  
"Yes." Sören kissed him again. "Oh yes." This was the first man he'd been with after the rape. Anthony took care of him, and Sören really and truly wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. "I trust my brother."  
  
Sören moaned when Anthony was buried in him to the hilt, the blade at his throat. He moaned again as Anthony began dragging the blade downward, from his throat to his heart. "I belong to you..." Anthony kissed down his neck, to his shoulder. "And you belong to me." With that, Anthony nicked over Sören's heart, and tenderly, reverently lapped the blood that flowed.  
  
Sören's hands tightened on Anthony's hips. "I love you."  
  
"I love you, my brother." Anthony slid the blade over from Sören's heart, running it in circles around a nipple, gently dragging over a nipple. His tongue teased the sensitized nub and then he suckled and Sören let out a wild cry - now it was Anthony's turn for his back to get clawed up. Anthony groaned and began to thrust a little harder, and moved the blade over to the other nipple, circling and circling, the sharp blade biting against the aching peak, before he bent his head to lash it with his tongue and sucked it hard. Sören bucked underneath him, whimpering.  
  
Anthony slid the blade from Sören's chest back up to his throat, nicking, lapping the blood, kissing Sören with the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. Sören moaned and raked his back, and Anthony drove into Sören harder, kissing him again. "That's right," Anthony husked, kissing Sören's neck... making little cuts here and there, licking them. "You're mine."  
  
Sören was going out of his mind with lust and sensation. He loved being under Anthony's control like this, something so erotic about that place of vulnerability, trusting him so fully. The feeling of the blade on his flesh, chased by Anthony's lips and tongue, intensified the pleasure of Anthony's cock rubbing so sweetly inside him. Sören's moans got louder as Anthony continued to move the blade from Sören's throat to his chest and back up, alternating nicks with the blade and nibbles with his teeth.  
  
And then Anthony couldn't hold back anymore, and just kept the blade at Sören's throat, growling as he bit Sören's shoulder and slammed into him. Sören cried out and clawed Anthony's back, panting "more, more" as Anthony's cock stroked him to the edge. "More, brother, more..."  
  
"You trust me?" The blade pressed into Sören harder.  
  
"Yes, yes, _yes_, I trust you, I trust you, I love you..."  
  
Anthony growled again and nibbled and licked Sören's neck, pounding away. Sören writhed underneath him, the pleasure building and building and at last taking him under. "I trust you, I trust you, I trust my brother, oh god, Anthony, _yes!_" Sören let out a scream as he climaxed, shooting hard over the both of them.  
  
A few thrusts later and Anthony gave a fierce cry as he came, gasping as he spent deep into Sören, trembling. Sören moaned at the feeling of being flooded, and sighed as the contractions pulsed on, that moment of perfect bliss.  
  
Anthony put the razor down and they kissed. "I love you so much."  
  
"_Ég elska þig, ástin mín._"  
  
Anthony sighed and kissed the tip of Sören's nose. He tousled Sören's curls and stroked his cheek. "That was..." He laughed softly. "Wow."  
  
"Wow. Yes. 'Wow' about sums it up."  
  
"I've never done that before." Their eyes met.  
  
"Neither have I." Sören grinned. "We might have to do that again... you know, once in awhile."  
  
"Yes." Anthony gave him a little kiss. Then he pulled Sören close, his arms tight around him. "Thank you."  
  
"For?"  
  
"Trusting me. After everything that's happened to you, the way that you were hurt..."  
  
Sören snuggled deeper into Anthony's chest. "You're good to me."  
  
"I hope so." Anthony kissed the top of Sören's head. "Your heart is the most precious, valuable thing I have, and I don't ever want to lose it."  
  
The words brought tears to Sören's eyes. "Oh, _elskan._"  
  
Sören's orgasm was hard enough that he was starting to fade again, but before he could completely fall asleep, he heard Anthony say, "You're the one."


	28. One Year

"Good morning, my love."  
  
Sören crinkled his nose and smiled as he felt Anthony rain kisses over his face, and when he opened his eyes and looked into those beautiful summer green eyes shining with love, Sören's breath caught, feeling a tight ache in his chest. He loved Anthony so much.  
  
Sören gave him a little kiss back. "Mornin'."  
  
"Happy anniversary."  
  
Sören bit his lower lip. It was the morning of November twentieth - they had now officially been together a year. And Sören wasn't just waking up in Anthony's arms, but waking up in Switzerland, where they had flown in yesterday afternoon. They were in Lucerne, staying at the Hotel des Balances in Old Town; their suite had a balcony overlooking the Reuss River, with a gorgeous view of the Jesuit church and other Swiss-style buildings. Their suite was done in cream and soft golds, and the bed was in a wall nook with a curtain, which Sören found charming and romantic.  
  
Even better, they would be here in Switzerland through November twenty-sixth, the day after Sören's twenty-eighth birthday, flying back to London on Tuesday the twenty-seventh, returning to work on Wednesday the twenty-eighth. Just having over a week off was amazing, never mind spending it in Switzerland.  
  
But here they were. It was like a dream come true. Sören was once again incredibly touched and grateful for the way Anthony spoiled him, and a tender little kiss deepened, heated, Sören caught up in the rush of his feelings, his passion for the man he loved.  
  
"Mmmmmmmmmmm." Anthony kissed Sören back. "Do you want to get breakfast first, or -"  
  
"Right now it's you I want to eat." With that, Sören rolled Anthony onto his back, kissing him fiercely.  
  
They kissed and kissed, their tongues playfully licking together between kisses - they had slept nude after making love the night before, and now their hard cocks were rubbing together. Sören began kissing and licking Anthony's neck, making him moan, and he kissed his way to Anthony's nipples, looking into his eyes and watching him gasp and buck underneath him, clutching him as Sören lapped and suckled one, then the other, going back and forth between them. Anthony reached to tug on Sören's nipple rings, and his thumbs rubbed Sören's own sensitive, aching nipples as Sören continued to pleasure his.  
  
Sören kissed Anthony's stomach, and over a hip bone, smiling as Anthony shivered and groaned. Sören's cock jolted at the gasp Anthony gave as he began to kiss and nibble a thigh, and Anthony gasped and moaned as Sören worked on the other. Sören hovered over Anthony's cock, breathing in the scent of his arousal, and took a long, slow, deliberate lick from the slit of Anthony's cock down the shaft to the root, watching Anthony breathe harder, lust and need on his face. Sören gently rubbed his tongue back and forth on the way back up the shaft to the head, and then there was another single stroke of his tongue back down, Sören's cock throbbing at the guttural sound Anthony made, the way he quivered, lashes fluttering.  
  
After a few slow licks down Anthony's cock, Sören finally took it into his mouth, continuing to tease by sucking him slowly, while his hands played over Anthony's body, caressing his chest and stomach and hips and thighs, palms brushing downwards, fingers walking upwards, playing with his nipples before his hands slid down again. Sören loved hearing him moan and pant, watching him tremble, the look of ecstasy as Sören's mouth worked its magic. Sören sucked him slow for a long time, savoring the way Anthony melted to his mouth and his touch. Every now and again Sören let Anthony's cock slip from his mouth to give it a few slow strokes of his tongue, smiling as Anthony's moans got louder.  
  
Eventually Sören sucked harder, faster, until Anthony was gently thrusting into his mouth, moaning and moaning, grabbing at Sören's curls. Before Anthony could come in his mouth, Sören took the cock out of his mouth, giving a wicked grin at the frustrated growl Anthony made, laughing softly as Anthony cried out when Sören began to lick Anthony's tight, sensitized balls. Sören lapped them slow and then fast, sucked them into his mouth and licked some more, not able to keep from playing with his own cock as Anthony's voice rose. Sören spread Anthony's legs and his tongue brushed the sensitive place between balls and ass, before making teasing circles around the rim of his opening. Then Sören's tongue speared him and Anthony gave a cry, gasping and crying out again as Sören began to lick inside him, rubbing his tongue hard and fast. Sören ate him hungrily, stroking himself harder as Anthony clutched his head and began to rock his hips, fucking himself on Sören's tongue. Then Sören slowed down, teasing him some more, laughing at that half-growl, half-whine of frenzied need.  
  
"Sören..." Anthony gave him a pleading look.  
  
Sören's tongue sped up, and soon he was shaking his head back and forth as his tongue fucked away. Then he stopped and put Anthony's cock in his mouth again, eyes locked as Sören sucked hard and fast. Sören put two fingers inside him, finding the sweet spot and rubbing, fingers fucking harder and harder as he sucked. Anthony bucked against Sören's fingers, thrust into his mouth, panting, gasping, moaning, and Sören's cock throbbed at watching him lose control like this. When Anthony at last came in Sören's mouth, shouting his name, Sören almost came too.  
  
Sören swallowed and licked Anthony's cock clean, savoring the taste of him; Anthony grabbed Sören and pulled him up for a deep, passionate kiss.  
  
Anthony rolled Sören onto his back and now it was his turn; Sören sighed and stretched, flexing like a happy cat as Anthony began to make love to his nipples, tongue lashing, suckling hard, pulling them with his lips, nibbling, tugging the nipple rings with his teeth and licking more slowly before lapping again. His fingers and thumb rubbed, pinched, plucked and tugged one nipple as his mouth pleasured the other. Anthony knew Sören's nipples were hard-wired to his cock, and he got Sören close to that edge just from going back and forth between his nipples, teasing them and teasing them. Then Anthony kissed up from Sören's collarbone, up his throat, licking between kisses, and claimed his mouth again, kissing him fiercely, their tongues rubbing together before they kissed again. Anthony kissed Sören's neck down to his shoulder, and back down to the nipples, sucking and lapping even harder, nibbling, playing with the nipple ring, heat in his eyes as he watched Sören writhe, swear in Icelandic, desperately clawing his back.  
  
Anthony kissed and licked and nibbled Sören's stomach, and then Sören's cock was in his mouth. He sucked slowly at first, but since Sören was already so pent up he relented and sucked harder, cupping and rubbing Sören's balls as he sucked. Sören panted and rocked his hips, fucking Anthony's mouth, hearing himself pleading in Icelandic as the tension built higher and higher, winding tighter and tighter, the sweetness of Anthony's mouth bringing him closer until he was at the point of no return and flew, screaming as he let go in Anthony's mouth, moaning as Anthony gave an "mmmmmm", drinking it all down.  
  
When Anthony came up to kiss him, he was hard again, and took both their cocks in his hand, stroking Sören's cock back to life. Sören moaned at the silken steel of Anthony's cock rubbing against his, the delicious sight of their hard cocks together. After a few minutes, he reached down and made the heads of their cocks kiss, and pushed the bead in the ring in his cock into the slit of Anthony's cock, making Anthony gasp and cry out. Anthony cried out again as Sören pulled back, and pushed in again. A few pushes and pulls later, Sören rolled his foreskin over the head of his cock and the head of Anthony's cock, and continued to rock his hips to push the bead in and out as his hand rubbed where their cockheads were joined. Anthony shuddered, moaning "oh god, oh god Sören, ohgodohgod..." until Sören kissed him. Then after their tongues played together between kisses Sören husked, "I like the way our cocks can kiss too," and kissed him again more deeply, and Anthony cried out into the kiss, shuddering as Sören felt his molten flow. The feeling of Anthony coming inside his sensitive foreskin and over the head of his cock made Sören come too, moaning into the kiss, arms holding Anthony tight as his body shook and heaved with the delicious throbbing pleasure.  
  
"Fuck." Anthony laughed, kissing Sören's shoulder and burying his face there, giving a little sigh. He looked up and grinned. "I love you."  
  
"I love you." Sören kissed him. "That was a good start to our anniversary."  
  
"Yes, it was. It was perfect." Anthony nipped Sören's lower lip and kissed him back. "You're perfect."  
  
"I'm not perfect."  
  
"I beg to differ." Anthony kissed Sören's nose.  
  
They cuddled together for awhile, and then Sören's stomach growled and that dragged them out of bed, showering together, holding each other and rocking in the shower. Then they got dressed, Anthony in a grey cashmere sweater and black jeans, Sören in a Queen T-shirt over a black turtleneck and faded jeans. They brought their outerwear with them, making sure to bundle up because of their plans for the day, and they went down to the hotel restaurant for breakfast, eating on the terrace by the river. Then they were off, making the short trip to the train station.  
  
The plan for today was to take the train from Lucerne to Montreux, via the Golden Pass scenic route. Sören's breath was taken away at the snow-capped peaks, and then the train was going up and up and up into the mountains, looking down at the towns below, picturesque with the old-style Swiss architecture in the snow, looking like something out of a snow globe. The train stopped in Interlaken, where they took a private train to Lauterbrunnen, and then began the trip to Jungfraujoch. Sören once again was amazed at the beauty of the Lauterbrunnen valley, covered in snow. From Kleine Scheidegg to Junfraujoch, they passed through a dark tunnel, and it got chilly in the train as they climbed; Anthony had brought a cozy baby blue microfleece blanket and wrapped it around them, and Sören leaned on him, smiling.  
  
The train stopped for a break and they got their first look at the Alps; they took a quick walk to a viewing area to see the Aletsch Glacier.  
  
When the train arrived at Jungfraujoch station Sören felt the altitude more strongly - they were now at 3454 meters (11,300 feet) and Sören needed to puff on his inhaler. He felt a little light-headed, enough that he started laughing at nothing. Anthony grinned at him and laughed too. They put on sunglasses because the snow was blinding up here; both slightly out of breath, they took it slow to walk to the elevator for Sphinx Terrace. As much as Sören hated elevators because of claustrophobia, he didn't want to pass up the opportunity to see this, and it was well worth it when they reached the top.  
  
Tears burned Sören's eyes behind the sunglasses as he looked out at the panorama of the view of Jungfrau, and a better view of the Aletsch Glacier. There was something wild and primal about the stark, pristine beauty of the mountains and the glacier, a feeling of strength and _endurance_, the mountain and glacier seeming to thrum with an ancient power. Sören thought about the passage of time and how much this part of the world had seen. Sören drank in the peace, the strength, gooseflesh coursing over him as he felt humbled, awed, in the presence of something bigger and older than himself, as if the land were alive. Though he was not religious at all he nonetheless appreciated how primitive humans also must have sensed the power here and reverenced it.  
  
He made sure to take some pictures, including a couple of selfies of himself and Anthony. When they had their fill they went back down the elevator and decided to take the Mönchsjochhütte trail. Though it was well-groomed with even snow, it was also uphill, and every now and again they had to stop to catch their breath at this elevation. But the endless expanse of pristine white snow amid the craggy mountains was gorgeous, as was the feeling of walking on top of the world. Sören's sense of awe and wonder grew even stronger, and when Anthony took his hand and squeezed Sören knew he was feeling it too. It felt just as intimate as sex, if not moreso, to share this with him, being completely lost and taken by the beauty of nature, a place that felt downright _sacred_.  
  
It was lunchtime when they got to the hut at Mönchsjochhütte. They had hot coffee with a light meal, and Sören was once again impressed by Anthony's background with languages, that he spoke German just as easily as French. They fed each other and nuzzled and gave each other little kisses, and when they got out of the hut Anthony grabbed Sören and kissed him deeply, and Sören twirled him around, laughing, feeling drunk on the elevation and love.  
  
The walk back was downhill and considerably easier, though they still had to take it slow and take little rest stops; Sören took another hit from his inhaler when the hike was finished. Back at the glacier they went to the Ice Palace, carved out from the glacier, a series of tunnels and ice sculptures, walking on a sheet of ice. Even though Sören was from Iceland and his body threw off a lot of heat naturally and he was bundled up, he still shivered inside of the Ice Palace, and huddled close to Anthony, who got the blanket out of his travel bag and wrapped it around them.  
  
At the base of the glacier Sören took selfies of them with the Swiss flag, including asking a couple of tourists to take their picture with his camera.  
  
Sören had to visit Lindt Chocolate Heaven, and ended up spending money on chocolate, a knife, and a snow globe. Back in the train, Sören ate a truffle and shoved one in Anthony's mouth.  
  
They took the train back to Interlaken and then to Zweisimmen. Sören marveled at the frozen Lake Thun, and more of the peaks of the Alps. At the Zweisimmen station they at last boarded the Golden Pass Classic, and Sören squeaked with delight when he saw the train, charmingly old-fashioned with wood-paneled walls and ceilings, green high-backed chairs and gold-trimmed luggage racks. The view of Lake Geneva in the wintertime was breathtaking, enough that Sören and Anthony kissed when it rolled out of sight, both feeling that awe again.  
  
At last they were in Montreux. It was like something out of a fairytale, and Sören made little happy noises and clapped as they walked around, half-expecting to see Little Red Riding Hood or Cinderella or even a Big Bad Wolf. But what they saw instead was a statue of Freddie Mercury, which was part of why Anthony had planned for them to see Montreux. Sören screamed and hugged the statue's leg, making Anthony laugh. They got pictures of themselves with the statue.  
  
They had dinner at a jazz club, listening to a band as they ate. Sören had a bit of wine and felt nice and mellow, and it was wonderful to see that Anthony was mellow as well, truly relaxed for once and completely present, rather than his mind being far away as the gears spun in his head about the latest cases he had to deal with. They played footsie under the table, making Sören feel flirty and flustered and a little horny. The horniness intensified on the train ride back to Lucerne, where they cuddled under the blanket, watching the landscape at night, the villages looking cozy lit up, even more like something out of a snow globe, and Anthony and Sören gently necked and did a little groping under the blanket.  
  
As soon as they got back to their hotel room in Lucerne, Sören began undressing and marched Anthony to the bed, kissing him all the way. Anthony laughed as Sören shoved him down on the bed, and pounced on him with a growl.  
  
"What's gotten into you?" Anthony asked, grinning.  
  
"Your cock, hopefully."  
  
Anthony grabbed Sören and pulled him down into a kiss, and reached for their lube. Sören wasted no time pouring the lube over Anthony's cock, working it in, and then straddled his hips and impaled himself. When Anthony was all the way in they took each other's hands and sighed contentedly.  
  
"I love you," Anthony said, looking up at him adoringly.  
  
"I love you." Sören leaned in to kiss him.  
  
Then he began to ride, holding onto Anthony's shoulders, with Anthony's arms around him. It wasn't just an act of love this time, pleasing each other, but it was an act of joy. Sören felt alive, and like the past was far away. This was his present, his future, his partner in the truest sense of the word, his soulmate, his playmate. Sören rode him with a sense of triumph, a feeling of _rightness_, like they truly belonged together, belonged to each other. That intense, overwhelming feeling of love intensified the deliciousness of Anthony's cock stroking him just the right way, and after a wild ride, bouncing fast and furious, Sören came hard, brought to tears. Anthony cried a little too, and they rocked together, kissing each other's tears, kissing deeply, petting each other, wrapped up in an afterglow that felt literal, everything warm and bright and beautiful.  
  
After cuddling for awhile they wanted to go again. With Anthony on his back, Sören took him, going slowly at first, holding Anthony's hands and kissing him again and again. When Anthony's hands slipped from his, his arms encircled Sören, holding him tight, and then his hands slid over Sören's body, fingers tracing every outline, every plane of his flesh, and at last Sören's face, looking into his eyes. Sören couldn't resist sucking Anthony's fingers into his mouth, which made Anthony rock back at him harder and Sören matched his rhythm, thrusting faster. Then Anthony leaned up to kiss and lick Sören's nipples, tugging the rings with his teeth and lapping some more, and Sören thrust harder still, losing himself in the silken heat wrapped around him. Their mouths met hungrily, and as they kissed Sören pounded him, need overtaking him, feeling like he needed to consume Anthony with every part of him. Anthony bucked underneath him, clawing Sören's back, and when he started kissing Sören's neck, Sören fought back his orgasm with grit teeth, reaching down to stroke Anthony's cock in time with his thrusts. Anthony bit Sören's shoulder as he came, growling, and Sören cried out as he spent into him, collapsing into Anthony's chest with a shuddery sigh.  
  
Before Sören passed out, he heard himself mumble, "This has been the best day of my life."  
  
And Anthony said, "I want to give you a lifetime of best days."  
  
  
_  
  
  
They took train rides around Switzerland every day for the rest of their vacation - Sören was particularly entranced by the Matterhorn, and he loved Zermatt with the Gornergrat Bahn - the highest open-air railway in Europe - and visiting the petroglyphs and prehistoric grinding stone at Hubelwäng, though neither he nor Anthony could say "Hubelwäng" with a straight face, giggling at it like a couple of stupid teenagers. But despite their joking, there was a liminal feeling at the ten prehistoric stones that made his hair stand on end and even with it being winter Sören felt something warm there, as if there was a reactor underground; for the briefest instant the Heidenplatte seemed to glow, and Sören got the image in his mind's eye of the Heidenplatte as a door, people walking into the stone and going into blinding light...  
  
On Sören's birthday they spent the afternoon taking the gondola up Mount Pilatus. Though Sören was claustrophobic and the gondola was small and many, many meters up in the air, Anthony was right there which helped make it feel cozy rather than terrifying. They snuggled as they watched the view from inside the gondola - Sören felt as if he were flying, and he was once again awed by the ancient power of the mountain, which seemed to watch them as they made the ascent up the cable. Sören took pictures, and knew he was going to paint this when they returned to England, the feeling that the mountain was alive somehow.  
  
After the gondola trip they went shopping in Lucerne. "We should do Christmas shopping while we're here," Anthony said. "That way when it's closer to Christmas we can just relax instead of having to run around worrying about gifts."  
  
"That would be efficient," Sören agreed, nodding.  
  
They split up to go shopping - "don't be too extravagant with whatever you're getting for me," Sören nagged, and Anthony just flashed him a grin. _Don't get me another fucking Rolex,_ Sören thought, feeling a bitter pang at the ultra expensive watch Anthony had gotten him earlier in the year that he hardly ever wore because watches weren't practical in his line of work.  
  
Sören still found Anthony hard to shop for, even after a year together, and it was even harder to think as he was captivated by the old-fashioned shop buildings with their gabled roofs and bright colors, enchanting in the snow. But at last he settled on a navy blue cashmere scarf, in keeping with their rule of spending under a hundred quid last year, and giving Anthony an article of clothing so the Yule Cat wouldn't eat him, and in honor of Anthony tying him up with a cashmere scarf for the first time at Christmas last year.  
  
When they met back up at a cafe, Anthony had a cat-that-ate-the-canary expression on his face and Sören gave him a look.  
  
Anthony had also gotten Sören a birthday present, which Sören wasn't expecting since this trip basically was his birthday present and had been a non-trivial expense, running thousands of dollars between airfare, the hotel and the train trips. Anthony had given Sören tanzanite stud earrings for their six-month anniversary and now, for the second pair of holes in Sören's ears, there were sapphires. Sören screamed and sobbed. He loved them, but he also felt a little guilty that Anthony was spending so much money on him. And yet, Anthony gave freely, ungrudgingly, taking happiness in giving Sören nice things. Sören smiled as Anthony put the little sapphires in Sören's ears, next to the tanzanites.  
  
"You know blue is my favorite color," Sören said.  
  
"I do know that." Anthony squeezed his hand.  
  
Sören still couldn't believe it as they walked back to the hotel. Anthony grinned, and at the mischief in his eyes, Sören said, "You had better not have spent a fortune on me for Christmas."  
  
Anthony just batted his eyes, and Sören stopped, put his hands on his hips, and said, "Cornelius Anthony Hewlett-Johnson."  
  
"I guess you'll have to wait for Christmas and find out, won't you?"  
  
On impulse, Sören squatted down in the snow, rolled up a snowball, and then he hit Anthony with it. He and Anthony had a snowball fight all the way back to the hotel, and in front of the hotel Anthony just grabbed Sören and pushed them both down into the snow, rolling around in the snow together, laughing.  
  
They had dinner on the terrace, and German chocolate cake for Sören's birthday. The sun set as they ate, and the romantic sunset on the Reusse River and the lingering playfulness between them put Sören in an amorous mood. When they got back to their suite, they quickly undressed and fell into bed together.  
  
But first they just held each other, naked, looking into each other's eyes. Anthony stroked Sören's cheek and pet his curls, and the look of love and wonder in his eyes brought tears to Sören's own.  
  
Then they kissed, deeply, fiercely, holding each other tight, clinging like their lives depended on it. Anthony rolled onto his back and pulled Sören atop him, and fumbled for the lube on the bedtable. Sören worked slick fingers in and out of him, kissing him again and again, and at last slicked his own cock. They kissed like they were trying to devour each other as Sören pushed into him, and when Sören bottomed out in him, they sighed together and Anthony held him tighter, wrapping his legs around him.  
  
Their eyes and their kisses expressed what words could not, this feeling deeper than love. Sören went slowly, then faster, and Anthony bucked beneath him, urging Sören on faster still. Sören drove into him with abandon, wild and hungry, needing to take all that Anthony had to give, driven mad with lust at the sound of Anthony's broken cries, the sweet sting of the nails in his back.  
  
And then Sören found himself reaching for the knife he'd bought at the Jungfrau, holding it to Anthony's throat. "Your life is mine," Sören growled. He dragged the sharp blade down to Anthony's chest, cutting here and there, lapping the blood that flowed. "Your heart is mine, your soul is mine."  
  
"Yes. God, _yes_..."  
  
"Mine." Sören slid the knife back up, pressing the blade in hard enough for Anthony to feel its bite, and made another nick when it reached Anthony's throat. He sucked on it, and Anthony howled and rocked back at him harder, Sören pounding him into the mattress, as hard as he could fuck. "Mine. My brother. My blood. _Mine._"  
  
"Oh, god, _Sören_..." Anthony let out a little sob and then Sören felt him shoot, and the look on Anthony's face and the feeling of his hot seed spurting over him, the pulsing walls around him, set off Sören's own climax, growling as he spent.  
  
Sören drifted a little, and came back to feeling cold metal, a sharp point at his throat. It was Anthony's turn, who had gotten the knife out of Sören's hand as he relaxed his grip. Anthony kissed him as he rolled Sören onto his back, and Sören sighed with a shiver as the knife dragged down to his heart, then across to trail circles around his nipple. "You're mine too," Anthony whispered, before the blade ran over the aching nub, then Anthony drew it into his mouth, sucking hard. Sören cried out and bucked against him, spreading, wanting to be filled. But he knew it was going to be awhile; Anthony took his time getting there, kissing in the wake of the blade as it moved across to the other nipple. "Mine." After the blade ran around the nipple and over, Anthony tugged with his teeth. Sören's cock jolted and he made a helpless little whine.  
  
Anthony drove Sören crazy, teasing back and forth. Sören reached for Anthony's cock, poured lube over it, and tried to guide it to his twitching hole, and Anthony laughed and slapped Sören's hand away. "Not yet," Anthony said, kissing Sören's neck, knowing how sensitive Sören was there, too. Sören gave a half-whine, half-growl through grit teeth and raked Anthony's back.  
  
"I see we've got a live one here." Anthony reached for the scarf in the chair with his winter gear, grabbed Sören's hands and tied his wrists to the headboard. Sören's cock throbbed, hole twitching again, going out of his mind with need - he loved being tied up like this, and Anthony knew it. When he was bound Anthony surveyed his handiwork, and then he said, "Now where was I?" and put the knife to Sören's throat as he kissed and licked Sören's neck and shoulder. Then the knife was tracing around and around Sören's nipple again, before running over it, followed by Anthony's tongue.  
  
With Sören tied up and completely under Anthony's control - though all Sören had to do was ask if he wanted to be untied - Anthony teased him for as long as he could, spending a long time going back and forth between Sören's nipples with the knife and his teeth and tongue. Sören had never seen his nipples so swollen, and Anthony loved it, suckling hard. Then he trailed the knife over Sören's rib cage and then his stomach, making little cuts, licking the blood. The feeling of the blade tracing in slow lines over his thighs made Sören whimper and buck, harder when the blade was chased by Anthony's tongue. Shockingly, the blade traced slowly down the shaft of Sören's cock, and the feel of Anthony's tongue following the trail of the blade almost set Sören off right then.  
  
Anthony held the knife to Sören's throat as he took him. He went slowly at first, watching Sören's face and especially his eyes as he teased with those delicious slow thrusts, holding Sören under his power with the bonds and the knife. Soon Sören was writhing against the restraints, howling, and Anthony went faster, nibbling Sören's neck as the knife trailed up and down his throat.  
  
Then Anthony held nothing back, one of Sören's legs around his waist, the knife at Sören's heart as he slammed into him harder and harder. "Who do you belong to?"  
  
"You. Oh god... you, I'm yours, I'm yours, take me, fuck me..." Sören shuddered.  
  
"Mine. Always. No matter what." Their eyes met. "I will never, _ever_ let you go."  
  
And Sören could _feel_ it, that bond between them, from whatever time those dreams had been set in, bringing them back to each other now. Their love was as ancient and as strong and enduring as the mountains surrounding them, as high as their peaks. In his mind's eye Sören saw a flash of that distant pass, wanting to escape with his brother-lovers, over the mountains, _where no one can judge us, no one can touch us._ Then a vision of fire, burning everything to ash.  
  
But like the phoenix inked on his skin, they had been reborn, and they were here.  
  
"Mine," Anthony gritted out, trembling.  
  
"Yours." And with that, Sören gave a little whimper, he was so close, _so close rightthererightthere_...  
  
"Come for me," Anthony commanded.  
  
"Oh god, _Anthony!_" Sören gave a wordless howl as he erupted, shooting over Anthony's chest and stomach.  
  
A few thrusts later and Anthony cried out, and Sören moaned as he felt that flood inside him. Anthony let go of the knife and came down, kissing Sören deeply, and untied his wrists. Sören flexed his wrists and wrapped his arms around Anthony, holding on for dear life, rocking and rocking, laughing and crying.  
  
"Oh god." Sören laughed through his tears. "Oh god. Oh god..."  
  
"Sören." Anthony's eyes were too bright. "You're beautiful."  
  
"So are you." Sören kissed him hard. "What we have is beautiful."  
  
Already they were both hard again, insatiable, rubbing together, tongues licking between kisses. Sören gloried in the fire between them, not able to stop smiling, laughing, feeling drunk and crazy in love. "This has been an even better birthday than the one last year."  
  
"We can celebrate all night." Anthony grinned, and kissed him again.


	29. One Step Forward

On Christmas Eve, Anthony and Sören went to Roger and Elaine's house in Blackheath, where they would stay through the night of the twenty-sixth. As usual, Roger and Elaine had asked that in lieu of gifts, donations be made to charity in their names, but Sören still went out of his way to bake a few trays of Icelandic Christmas cookies, as he did last year, except more this year since they had been informed Elaine's mother was coming for Christmas Day.  
  
Anthony and Sören carried their overnight bags and plates of cookies to the door, and Elaine answered the door just before they could ring the bell. "I heard you pull in," Elaine said, and took the plates out of Anthony and Sören's hands, with them following her to the kitchen. Once the plates of cookies were settled on the kitchen counter Elaine surveyed Sören's handiwork, and gave him a hug. "You're such a thoughtful boy," Elaine said, and kissed Sören's forehead.  
  
"I try," Sören said, smiling.  
  
Anthony and Sören brought their bags upstairs to Anthony's old room and came back down. They were just in time for dinner, which wasn't as elaborate as the meal would be on Christmas Day but Elaine had still gone to a good bit of trouble. The beef pot roast melted in Sören's mouth, and he ended up having seconds of that and the roasted new potatoes and turnips. After dinner they relaxed in the sitting room with cognac-and-rum spiked egg nog, and Sören related the tale of how he told his pediatric patients over the last week he was "a real elf from the North Pole", which made Elaine grin and Roger chuckle.  
  
Then Elaine frowned. "It must be so hard, to have sick kids as patients."  
  
Sören nodded. "I've been told more than once that I should specialize in pediatric neurosurgery - kids seem to really like me for some reason, I try to be kind to them - but no." Sören frowned too. "It's too hard, it takes a lot out of me emotionally. As difficult as the trauma cases are, that's still easier on me than when I have kids with serious conditions coming in."  
  
"I can imagine. Still, it's obvious you care, and, well... it's good that you're good with children. Not everyone has that talent." Elaine gave Sören a pointed look.  
  
"Do you have any nieces or nephews, Sören?" Roger asked.  
  
Sören shook his head, and thought of when Dag told him a few years ago that he'd gotten one of his colleagues pregnant by accident and she wanted to terminate the pregnancy and he was paying for the abortion and going with her for moral support. Sören had supported Dag, in turn, knowing it was the wrong time in his life to have children. And it became even more the wrong time after their sister Margrét was murdered and they had fallen out of touch - it hurt too much, every conversation a reminder of her missing presence. Only this past week had Sören spoken to Dag for the first time since before he left Iceland, to wish him a merry Christmas and get caught up. Dag was _very_ curious about meeting Anthony, since this was Sören's first serious relationship, and Dag would be coming to London in the spring to give a lecture so there were plans to get together.  
  
Anthony squeezed Sören's hand, knowing the topic of Sören's family was still a sore spot, even with having started talking to Dag again recently.  
  
"That's too bad," Roger said. "I know Anthony hasn't gotten the experience of having nieces and nephews, being an only child and all..."  
  
"Well, you never know," Sören said, swirling the egg nog around in his glass. "Maybe my brother might have kids someday." Sören shrugged.  
  
"On that note," Elaine said, looking at Roger, "kids should be in bed." She looked back at Sören and Anthony. "I heard a rumor Father Christmas is coming, and he won't stop here if the children aren't in bed."  
  
Anthony's eyebrows shot up and he gave his parents an incredulous look. "Mum, you told us not to get you anything."  
  
"I did."  
  
"And you usually... don't... get me anything for Christmas anymore, not since I turned eighteen."  
  
"That doesn't mean Father Christmas can't bring you anything." Elaine's expression was deadpan as she sipped her eggnog.  
  
"Mum. _Mother._"  
  
"You should listen to your mum," Roger said, also deadpan.  
  
"Here, I'll be the responsible adult," Sören said, and grabbed Anthony's hand and pulled him to his feet. They took their glasses into the kitchen and rinsed them out, and then Sören said, "Race you," and he and Anthony ran upstairs. Anthony beat him to the top, and Sören had to take a puff on his inhaler when he reached the top of the second floor, but it was worth it to see Anthony smiling. Anthony put his arms around Sören's waist and marched him to the bedroom.  
  
They got into their pajamas, then went to the bathroom to brush their teeth, and came back to Anthony's room.  
  
"So," Sören said, looking at the clock, noticing it wasn't even nine PM yet, "we should be good boys and go to bed." With that, Sören climbed into Anthony's bed.  
  
"Yes, she said go to bed. She didn't say anything about going to sleep." Anthony crouched down in front of the TV in his room to turn on the gaming console, and tossed a controller at Sören, who laughed.  
  
They spent the next few hours playing Sonic the Hedgehog, snuggled together in Anthony's bed. Every now and again Sören looked at the snow falling out the window and he smiled to himself, feeling like life could not get much better than this, here with his best friend, his lover, his soulmate. He liked that he and Anthony could just play together like two big kids, making up for the friendship they lacked in their younger years. Sören felt very close to him, and again felt that prickle of _I want to spend the rest of my life with this man._  
  
Sören thought then about proposing to Anthony - maybe on Valentine's Day. He was nervous, not wanting to risk rejection, but he also needed Anthony to know how serious he was, beyond words, beyond the ways they took care of each other.  
  
After their game, just before midnight, Anthony gave Sören a little kiss. "Do you want to open your Christmas present now?"  
  
"Oh... OK." Sören nodded. "We can do that now."  
  
They got up, and Sören went in his duffel bag and reached for the box with the navy blue cashmere scarf he'd bought at a shop in Lucerne, Switzerland last month. He felt that little twinge of anxiety again, like this wouldn't be good enough, but then again Anthony wore the tie Sören gave him last Christmas, almost every time he wore a suit.  
  
"Here," Sören said, thrusting the box at him. "You first."  
  
Anthony slipped the bow off the box, carefully opened it, and pulled out the tissue paper. When he took out the scarf, Sören said, "It's another clothing item so the Yule Cat won't eat you, and well..." Sören's voice got husky as he said, "Last Christmas you tied me up for the first time in this very bed, with a scarf, so..."  
  
Anthony grabbed Sören and kissed him hard. When they pulled apart, Anthony's eyes were too bright. He stroked Sören's face and looked into his eyes. "I love you, you know."  
  
"I know." Sören smiled. "I love you too."  
  
Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose. Then he gave a dramatic clear of his throat. "Well then..." He had a smaller box, jewelry-sized, and Sören wondered if it was going to be another pair of earrings - though he was perfectly content with the tanzanites and sapphires Anthony had already given him - and he hoped it wasn't going to be another Rolex. "This is more of an accessory than a proper item of clothing, but hopefully it should still count to Jólakötturinn." He gestured to the box.  
  
Sören opened the box, and there was another smaller box inside, charcoal grey and velvet-covered, the perfect size for a pair of earrings. Sören started to open the box, feeling an embarrassment of riches, and right then Anthony got off the bed... and once the box was all the way open, Anthony got down on one knee in front of Sören.  
  
Inside the box was a band that appeared to be white gold or platinum, set with tiny sparkling white diamonds going all the way around the band. Sören's jaw dropped.  
  
Anthony took Sören's hand and looked into his eyes. "Sören Sigurðsson, will you marry me?"  
  
Sören nodded, and started to cry. "Yes." He gave a little squeak and laughed through his tears, overcome by joy, feeling drunk even though he'd only had a little bit of alcohol. Flying, sparkling inside like the diamonds on the ring in the light of their love, brighter than the sun. Anthony pulled him into a tight hug, also laughing and crying, and then he slipped the ring on the ring finger of Sören's left hand. Sören looked at the ring on his hand and moved it around to watch the diamonds catch the light, making rainbows. "It's beautiful, thank you." Sören kissed him hard. "You're beautiful."  
  
Anthony rocked him. "You like the ring?"  
  
"Yes, I do." The compliment was sincere. "It's shiny. And very classy."  
  
"When I was absolutely certain I was going to ask you to marry me, I did some research on NHS guidelines for rings, to make sure it was something you could wear for work," Anthony said.  
  
"Oh god. How long ago was that?"  
  
"Honestly, it's been on my mind for months, but I started seriously considering it after we were both sick with flu in October, and finally got the nerve to get a plan together in November after... the straight razor."  
  
Sören kissed his cheek, getting choked up again, remembering the words as they lay there that night. _You're the one._ "Oh, Anthony..."  
  
Anthony took Sören's face in his hands and kissed him deeply, then he got back up on the bed and Sören leaned against him. "I bought that when we were shopping in Lucerne, went into a jeweler. The band is platinum and I made sure those are conflict-free diamonds."  
  
Sören sniffled. "I feel bad because I just got you a scarf..."  
  
"It's not just a scarf," Anthony said. "There's meaning behind it. Meaning that I will cherish every time I wear it. Or just as likely... tie you up with it." He stroked Sören's cheek. "Besides, we did have that rule about only spending one hundred quid on each other for Christmas."  
  
Sören poked him. "A rule which you broke."  
  
Anthony gave him a wicked grin. "It's technically only Christmas Eve yet, not Christmas Day."  
  
"You. Are. Such. A. Fucking. Lawyer."  
  
Anthony laughed and kissed Sören again. One kiss became another, then another, and soon they were unbuttoning each other's pajama tops, peeled off their pajama bottoms and let them slip to the floor. "I think we should break in the new scarf," Anthony whispered, and reached for it; Sören grabbed the headboard of Anthony's bed and Anthony tied Sören's wrists to the headboard as Sören looked up at him adoringly, tears stinging his eyes again, overcome by love and trust and that feeling of _rightness_, that this was where he belonged.  
  
Anthony had Sören test the bonds, and when he was satisfied they were neither too loose nor too tight, he claimed Sören's mouth, and began to kiss and lick down Sören's neck, his hard cock rubbing against Sören's own. Sören moaned and Anthony covered Sören's mouth with his hand, chuckling. "Shhhhhh. My parents are right upstairs." He replaced his hand with his mouth, kissing Sören again. Then he resumed kissing Sören's neck, licking, nibbling, his hands sliding up and down Sören's chest and stomach and hips and thighs, and back up, making Sören break out into gooseflesh.  
  
"I will never get tired of making love to you," Anthony said, kissing down from Sören's collarbone to a nipple.  
  
"Good." And then Sören let out a soft moan as Anthony drew that nipple into his mouth, sucking hard.  
  
"So lovely." Anthony pulled on the ring in Sören's nipple, then lapped it, suckled it, tugged the ring with his teeth, nibbled on the sensitive peak before sucking it again, harder.  
  
He kissed across Sören's chest to the other nipple and sucked it, licked it, played with the ring, nibbled and drew the ring between his teeth, suckled hard. Back and forth he went, fingers and thumb rubbing and rolling and pinching one nipple as his lips and tongue teased the other, getting them hard, swollen, glistening, sensitive and twinging, aching, making Sören's cock twinge and throb. Sören tried very hard not to cry out but every now and again he let out a gasp or a whimper, and when Sören did cry out Anthony put his fingers against Sören's lip, then in his mouth. "Shhhhhhhh." He kissed each of Sören's nipples then, and slid down to work on Sören's stomach.  
  
Anthony's tongue brushed and swirled over Sören's tummy, and he kissed here and there, making Sören shiver, cock jolting. He kissed down one hip and thigh and behind the knee, and across to go up the other. Then he began to lick Sören's cock, just licking and licking and licking, teasing him, watching Sören gasping, panting, writhing.  
  
"Oh god, Anthony," Sören whispered. "Please, brother..."  
  
"Mmmmmmmm." Anthony's lips wrapped around the head of Sören's cock, sucking slowly, rubbing his tongue as he sucked, kissing it. Sören bucked and let out a shuddery gasp, trying once again not to cry out. Then Anthony's tongue was licking his cock again, tracing around and around the head in circles, lashing at the frenulum, licking down the shaft and back up, and back down and back up, over and over. "God, I want you."  
  
"Then take me, dammit," Sören gritted out.  
  
Anthony laughed softly, and his response to that was to push his tongue into Sören's opening. Sören made a high-pitched noise and Anthony laughed again. "You have to be quiet," he husked.  
  
"Fucking _hell_, Anthony..." Sören gave a whine. "Fucking fuck me..."  
  
"You mean like this?" Anthony's tongue pushed into him again and began to rub inside him hard and fast. Sören bit his lip to restrain the cry, writhed against the restraints, panting, quivering, as Anthony devoured him, tongue lashing fast and furious. Anthony got Sören right on that edge and kept him there, teasing and teasing until Sören was almost at the point of tears, whispering "please, please, _please_, oh god please..."  
  
"Mmmmmmmmmmmm." Anthony's tongue rubbed slower, taking languid, lazy strokes inside him.  
  
"Oh god, Anthony, please, _please_, please brother, fuck me..." Sören knew with Anthony's teasing mood he had to be specific. "Give me your cock..."  
  
"Oh, is that what you want?" Anthony feigned innocence. He gave a few more slow licks inside Sören and then he said, "I'll think about it."  
  
Sören could have screamed. But Anthony's tongue was so good, building that pleasure higher and higher, making Sören's balls throb and his thighs quiver, completely lost in sensation.  
  
At last Anthony relented, taking a few more licks at Sören's cock, which was dripping thick streamers of precum, and he came up to kiss Sören, kissing him again more deeply as he poured a generous amount of lube into Sören's opening. Then they kissed again as his cock slid inside. When Anthony was all the way in the kiss broke and they looked into each other's eyes; Anthony stroked Sören's face, pet his curls. "I love you, darling."  
  
"_Ég elska þig, ástin mín._"  
  
They kissed again, and Anthony began to thrust slowly, sweetly, continuing to pet and stroke Sören. Sören melted to his touch, to the love shining in Anthony's eyes, savoring that feeling of bound-yet-free, flying high in the brilliant light of their passion, reborn like the phoenix, the past so far away now. Sören loved him even more now than he had a year ago when they'd made love in this bed, and it seemed that their love would grow stronger over time. They had built a life together... a safe, cozy nest, their refuge from the crazy world. They took care of each other, and Anthony was taking care of him even now, giving him joy.  
  
Giving him ecstasy, with the delicious gliding in and out of him, rubbing the sweet spot inside him. "You like that, brother?" Anthony whispered between kisses at Sören's neck.  
  
"Oh _god_, yes. I love my brother's cock." Their eyes met. "I love you."  
  
Their mouths met again, and then Anthony was kissing and licking Sören's neck, knowing how much that drove him crazy. His fingers strayed, rubbing Sören's swollen, sensitive nipples. Then his mouth was there, sucking, pulling them hard with his lips, tongue lashing and brushing before suckling them hard again. Sören grabbed the headboard, white-knuckled, and began to rock underneath him, urging him on faster.  
  
Anthony went harder, faster, matching Sören's rhythm, and nibbled on Sören's nipples, meeting Sören's eyes. The fierce, dangerous look of lust in Anthony's eyes made Sören want him even more and Sören bucked underneath him harder still. "Fuck me," Sören panted. "Fuck me, fucking fuck me..."  
  
Anthony growled, pulled a nipple ring with his teeth, suckled hard, and repeated with the other, and then, his mouth on Sören's, he gave in, fucking harder. And then he slammed away, one of Sören's legs on his hips, kissing Sören roughly. Sören got closer and closer to the edge, lost in the exquisite rubbing inside him. "Oh god, more, more," Sören panted, trying to keep his voice down even though Anthony's balls were smacking against his ass, there was the wet slurping sound of plunging in and out of the slickness.  
  
Anthony gave a deep groan, not able to help it. "Oh, Sören." He closed his eyes and shuddered, then opened his eyes, looking almost angry in his need. He rose up and put Sören's leg on his shoulder, pounding into him even harder and faster.  
  
"Oh god, yes, yesyesyesyes moremoremore," Sören whispered.  
  
"Sören. _Sören._" Anthony growled. "I want you. I need you so much..."  
  
"Yesyesyes take it take it takeittakeit fuck me hard..." Sören's hips rocked back at him. "Give me that cock, brother..."  
  
Anthony reached to play with Sören's cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. Sören felt himself hurtling along to that point of no return, yet all of the sweet sensations were so good he didn't want Anthony to stop, wanted to just fuck and fuck... Their eyes met and the furious lust on Anthony's face made Sören shiver. "Oh god, yes." Sören's breath hitched. "I'm so close..."  
  
"Yes, sweetheart." Anthony's thumb began to rub the sensitive frenulum of Sören's cock as he stroked, harder. "Want to make you come for me..."  
  
"Oh god, so close... soclosesoclosesoclose..." Sören gave a little whimper and shivered again. "More, more..."  
  
"Come, brother."  
  
"Oh, _skít!_" Sören held back the cry, gasping as his orgasm exploded, his cock shooting over Anthony's chest and stomach. Anthony came a few thrusts later, gasping, shaking, and Sören let out a little moan as he felt the hot seed spurting deep inside him. "Oh, fuck, yes..."  
  
"Yes, darling." Anthony came down and kissed him. "Yes, Sören, yes, my love..."  
  
"_Elskan._" Sören's orgasm was so powerful that he felt tears come on as the euphoria throbbed through him. "_Elskan mín_..."  
  
Anthony kissed the tears that flowed, and their noses rubbed; Anthony gave him sweet little kisses and then was kissing him more deeply, insistently. Sören noticed he was still tied up and he crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, feeling Anthony harden up inside him again. "Does my brother want to play another round?"  
  
"Of course," Anthony said, kissing Sören as he took Sören's cock into his hand - Sören was hard again too - and he stroked it slowly. "I can't get enough of you."  
  
"I can't get enough of you either." Sören kissed him back. "I hope you weren't planning on sleeping tonight."  
  
"Mmmmmm. I'm definitely not now." Anthony kissed him again.  
  
Anthony began to move inside him again, a moderate pace. Soon enough Sören was rolling his hips back at Anthony, rocking harder, faster, and Anthony kept time, thrusting harder. He kissed Sören's neck, played with Sören's nipples with one hand and Sören's cock with the other, and when he claimed Sören's mouth again he pounded Sören into the mattress. Sören couldn't help the high-pitched noise that escaped him as Anthony started slamming away madly, and flexed his fingers, knowing he'd be clawing Anthony's back if he wasn't tied up. "Oh god, like that, just like that," Sören panted, bucking underneath him, giving back as good as he got.  
  
When Sören exploded a second time, Anthony bit Sören's neck, growling as he gave a few last savage thrusts, groaning into Sören's neck and kissing where he'd bit as he spent again. They shook together, and then Anthony kissed him deep and hungry, as full of passion as Sören had ever been kissed. Sören was hard again when the kiss broke and Anthony looked at Sören's cock and laughed. "Jesus."  
  
"Uh, I know it's Christmas Eve and all, but that's not the baby Jesus, Anthony." A pause. "Even if thy kingdom come."  
  
Anthony lost it, trying not to laugh out loud, spluttering, shaking as he buried his face in Sören's shoulder, kicking the bed. Sören giggled too, and when Anthony looked up at him, Anthony lost it again, and they kissed, laughing into the kiss, drunk on love. Then Anthony took a moment to untie Sören's wrists and Sören flexed before wrapping his arms around Anthony, pulling him into another kiss.  
  
Anthony slipped out of Sören and reached for the lube again, and Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip when Anthony poured lube over Sören's hard cock. He worked the lube over Sören's cock, stroking hard as he suckled Sören's nipples, pulled on them with his lips, and Sören gasped, cock throbbing, trying not to cry out. At last Anthony claimed his mouth and Sören felt him scoot up, and then Anthony straddled Sören's hips and rose up. Sören groaned as he watched Anthony sink down on his cock, and moaned when his cock was all the way inside, stretching him.  
  
Anthony took a moment to adjust, breathing harder, and then he began to ride Sören, slowly at first, his hands roaming over Sören's body as he worked his hips and ass. Sören moaned and reached up to caress Anthony as well, wanting to touch and feel and tease, wanting to express love through his hands. When Sören's fingers and thumbs played with his nipples Anthony moaned, closing his eyes, a look of ecstasy on his face that made Sören's cock jolt inside him, almost coming just from that alone. Then their eyes met and Anthony took Sören's hands in his and began to ride harder, faster. Sören grabbed Anthony's hips, the beast in him coming out to play, thrusting into him furiously, and Anthony held onto Sören as he bounced, bucking wildly - now it was Anthony's turn to try to keep his voice down.  
  
Sören grabbed Anthony's cock and started stroking it feverishly. Anthony made a strangled noise and bucked harder. "Oh god, Sören." He gasped and tugged on Sören's nipples. "Oh god. Oh god..."  
  
"That's it, _elskan._" Sören was right on that edge too, and made himself wait, wanting Anthony's pleasure first. "Come for your brother." Their eyes met. "Come for your husband."  
  
"Oh _fuck..._" It was all Anthony could do to keep his voice down as he climaxed, and at the feel of Anthony contracting around him Sören came too, gasping, his toes and fingers curling. Sören let out a high-pitched noise as Anthony shot over his chest, some of the seed landing on his throat.  
  
Sören opened his arms and Anthony sank down, kissing Sören as he continued to shudder and heave, and Sören groaned at the grip around his cock grasping him, pulsing, draining another load out of him. "Oh god, _elskan._"  
  
"I love you." Anthony kissed him again. "God, I fucking love you."  
  
They continued kissing, and petting, and soon they were both hard again. Sören rolled Anthony onto his back, and Anthony wrapped his arms and legs around Sören, sighing deeply as Sören began to thrust, slowly. "Sweetheart."  
  
"I love you." Sören kissed his mouth, then kissed his neck, down to his shoulder and back up, licking between kisses, smiling at how sensitive Anthony was there. "I love you so much."  
  
"You are the best thing that's ever happened to me." Anthony's arms tightened around him. Their eyes met, and Anthony reached to stroke Sören's face. Sören smiled at him, and the sweet smile Anthony gave back at him brought tears to Sören's eyes.  
  
Sören leaned in and kissed him hard, and then he let Anthony have it, slamming into him with vicious, punishing thrusts that made Anthony pant and gasp, rocking back at him, nails digging into Sören's back. "Sören... Sören... SörenSörenSören, yesyesyes..." Anthony shuddered and made a guttural noise. "Oh god, Sören, yes..."  
  
"That's it." Sören growled. Sweat was dripping down his body now, and Anthony was sweating too. Sören pet Anthony's damp hair, stroked his face, and Anthony latched onto Sören's thumb and sucked it, looking at Sören with needy eyes, moaning around the thumb in his mouth. "Oh, does my little brother like that?"  
  
"Mhmmmm." Anthony nodded, and licked Sören's thumb, licked the palm of Sören's hand, licked his fingers and sucked on them. "Mmmmmm."  
  
"_Fuck._" Sören growled again, banging away, losing himself in the wet silken heat, the smug look on Anthony's face, commanding him even when he was bottoming, being taken. Sören grunted and made another deep, primal noise as Anthony's hands slid to his hips and gripped them, rubbed them, letting Sören know he was in charge, he was getting fucked his way. And Sören loved it, surrendering, giving Anthony all that he had. "Fuck, yes..."  
  
Even more maddeningly, Anthony held out as long as he could, sweating, gasping, panting, rocking underneath Sören, holding back his orgasm even as he shivered and made feral noises. He was making Sören _work_ for this, and Sören fought back his own release until he was shaking, the deep noises becoming high-pitched, needing to come so badly but needing to please Anthony, and oh the inside of him had never felt more delicious...  
  
Anthony played with Sören's nipples as Sören played with Anthony's cock, and finally Anthony leaned up to kiss Sören's nipples, lapping and suckling hard, and Sören held him, pet his hair, kissed the top of his head. "Yes, little brother, nurse on me, let big brother take care of you..."  
  
Anthony suckled harder, and made a desperate noise. Sören grabbed onto Anthony's cock and stroked madly, and a few seconds later Anthony spilled over him, and Sören aimed, coming too as he felt the seed spurt onto his sensitive nipples. "Fuck, _yes._" Sören groaned and thrust a few more times into the sweet contractions around him, before collapsing onto Anthony's chest, kissing him hard.  
  
"Shiiiiit." Anthony laughed. "Oh my fucking _god._"  
  
They still weren't done. Tender little kisses became more feverish, loving pets became sensual caresses. They found themselves getting in the sixty-nine position, laying on each other's sides, eating the seed out of each other, which felt so deliciously debauched that Sören almost came right away, but made himself hold back, because the sweet rubbing of Anthony's tongue inside him was so good, especially when he was as sensitized as this. Then Sören's cock was in Anthony's mouth, sucking hard, and Sören took Anthony's cock in his mouth, greedy for it, making "mmmmm" noises with his mouth full. Their fingers worked in and out of each other's passages, rubbing the prostate as they sucked hungrily, and soon they were fucking each other's mouths, tongues lashing as they sucked, until Sören came hard, and another shockwave of orgasm went through him as Anthony flooded his mouth. Sören drank him down, enjoying every drop, licking him clean.  
  
They still needed more. Sören lay on his back and Anthony climbed atop him. They kissed again and again as their hard cocks rubbed together, hands sliding over each other's bodies. Looking into Anthony's green eyes, Sören had never felt so connected during sex before - as intimate as they were, it felt like they had reached a whole new level, utterly consumed by pleasure and passion. "Don't let it end," Sören breathed between kisses. "I love you so much..."  
  
Cock teased cock, silken steel playing together until they couldn't hold back anymore, shaking, panting, eyes locked. Anthony took Sören's hands in his, kissed him deeply, and a few grinding thrusts later they came together, breaking the kiss to watch cock spurting on cock, seed flowing and flowing, an indescribably luscious sight that made them both moan. Sören scooped up their seed with his fingers and shoved his fingers in Anthony's mouth for him to taste, and Anthony did the same for Sören, and they kissed again.  
  
The sensuality of their kiss, tongues licking, teasing, tasting themselves, sent the passion rising once more. Now Sören rolled Anthony onto his back, grabbed the lube, and poured it over Anthony's cock, kissing him as he worked the lube in. Anthony groaned and slicked his fingers, working them inside Sören harder and harder; he nipped Sören's lower lip. "Show me what you got, big brother," he rasped.  
  
Sören straddled and sank down, and rode slowly, melting as Anthony's hands wandered over him, exploring, pleasuring. But when Anthony slapped his ass, Sören took that as his cue to ride harder, and harder with each spank, until Sören was bouncing fiercely, Anthony's hands working his hips as Anthony rocked into him, fucking with abandon. Sören grabbed onto the headboard, white-knuckled, panting "ohgodohgodohgod", trying not to cry out, and when a little cry escaped him, Anthony's fingers were in his mouth. Sucking on Anthony's fingers, Sören came hard, that final orgasm shattering him, and Anthony gave a soft moan as he filled Sören with his seed, trembling, looking like he was having a religious experience.  
  
A few kisses later and they drifted off to sleep, Sören falling asleep with a big grin on his face.  
  
  
_  
  
It was after one PM when the knock came on the bedroom door and Elaine's voice called out, "Anthony, your gran is here."  
  
"Oh shit." Anthony's eyes opened and he sat up with a start, while Sören made a grumpy noise and stretched.  
  
For the sake of time and convenience, they showered together, but were too spent from last night to fool around in the shower, only holding each other and petting and giving tender little kisses. They changed, Sören into a traditional knit Icelandic sweater in a black, blue and white pattern, with faded jeans, and Anthony put on a dark green cashmere sweater and indigo jeans. They made their way downstairs gingerly - every step down reminded Sören that they'd had sex _seven times_ last night, insatiable for each other, and he laughed to himself as they strode out into the greatroom.  
  
Anthony's parents got a real tree every year, the smell of Douglas fir pleasant to Sören's nose even as he felt bad for the living thing that would soon die. The tree was strung with gold-white fairy lights and gold and silver and crystal ornaments, and on the fireplace mantle there were two stockings, one red and one green. Roger took them down and tossed the red one to Sören and the green one to Anthony before taking a seat himself.  
  
The stockings were full of mostly assorted candies and toiletries; Anthony received a gift card to a local bookstore in Blackheath, and Sören received a gift card to a local upscale department store. Sören teared up a little - it was all simple things, but getting a stocking from Anthony's parents made him feel like part of the family now.  
  
Elaine was out in the garden with Anthony's grandmother, Sören could hear their voices outside, and then finally the patio doors opened and a woman who looked like a very old version of Elaine, but much shorter, with snow-white short hair and rectangular spectacles, the same summer green eyes as Elaine and Anthony, wearing a purple dress and a purple-feathered glittery fascinator, pushed a walker inside, accompanied by a tall, lanky man with a shock of red hair, bright blue eyes and a friendly face who looked not older than Sören and Anthony, wearing jeans, cowboy boots, and a grey blazer over a white shirt.  
  
"Sören," Elaine said warmly, "please allow me to introduce my mother, Anthea Evangeline Rosalind MacLeod, and her partner, Donovan Desmond O'Meara."  
  
Sören rose to his feet and first he gave Elaine a hug. "Thank you for the stocking," he said. He looked over at Roger. "And you too, that was very thoughtful."  
  
"We had to get you a little something this year," Elaine said, giving Sören's arm a squeeze. "You've been so good for our son."  
  
Sören was incredibly touched, especially considering how many Christmases he hadn't gotten presents at all. Then he saw Anthea waiting, and came over to take the elderly woman's hand. She sized him up and down. "So you're the Sören." Her voice was deep like Elaine's, a little gravelly.  
  
"I am the Sören," Sören replied, amused by that. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ah..."  
  
"Anthea is fine." Anthea it was, then; Sören smirked in Anthony's direction, seeing where he got his middle name from. Then Anthea glanced at Anthony. "Cornelius! Get over here and give your granny a hug."  
  
Anthony did as he was told, and then Anthea grabbed Sören and pulled him into the hug too.  
  
Then Donovan stuck out his hand. "A pleasure to be meetin' ya," he said in an Irish accent.  
  
Sören shook his hand and Donovan clapped Anthony on the shoulder. "And good to see ya again."  
  
"Likewise," Anthony said. He looked back at his grandmother, and then at Donovan. "I hope you've been taking good care of her."  
  
"Oh, yeah, we just got back from Brazil." Donovan smiled at Anthea fondly. "We had a blast, didn't we?"  
  
"We sure did." Anthea reached up and pinched Donovan's cheek. "I enjoyed every minute of it. I could have stayed there longer, but I haven't seen you lot in ages." She gave Anthony a little shove. "We're going to be in England for the next month, though, so I'll get plenty of chances to see you."  
  
Anthea ambled her walker into the sitting room, with Donovan following carefully behind her. He helped her sit on one of the couches, and sat beside her. Elaine brought in hot chocolate, egg nog, whisky, and the Christmas cookies Sören made, informing them, "Sören made the biscuits."  
  
"Did he now? I admire a man who can cook," Anthea said. "Donovan here is great in the kitchen." Then she added, "And other places, too."  
  
Elaine turned beetroot and rolled her eyes. "Mum, please."  
  
Donovan grinned. Anthea squeezed Donovan's knee and Donovan pet her hand. It became apparent to Sören that although Donovan seemed to be enjoying Anthea's money rather well, he also enjoyed her company, so he wasn't _quite_ a gigolo, whatever the world thought of them.  
  
Anthea sampled a chocolate-licorice cookie and then she said, "Oh yes. This is divine." Anthea glared at Anthony. "_Keep him,_" she barked.  
  
Anthony laughed, his cheeks flushing. He put an arm around Sören. "Well actually, on that note... we have a little announcement to make."  
  
Elaine put her glass of egg nog down and clapped her hands together, waiting expectantly. Roger raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his hot chocolate. Anthony and Sören looked at each other and then Sören nodded, taking a deep breath and bracing himself, and Anthony turned back to the family looking out at him and said, "As of last night, we are engaged to be married."  
  
"_Finally_," Elaine said, and Roger guffawed. Then Elaine asked, "When?"  
  
Anthony and Sören looked at each other again. "We haven't picked a date yet," Anthony said. "But you'll know when we do. It'll likely be before 2013 is over, though."  
  
"Congratulations," Anthea said. "I think it's good the gays can get married these days."  
  
Sören wasn't too thrilled with the turn of phrase "the gays" but he also knew that Anthea came from a much older generation and it was remarkable that she was OK with this at all, so he could forgive that term more readily than if used by someone else.  
  
"I remember when Lysander and I got married," Anthea went on. "He was my second cousin," she informed Sören, "so we both had the same last name. And I remember thinking even back then, if people can marry their cousins, why can't they marry whoever they want?"  
  
"Hear hear," Elaine said.  
  
"Times have come a long way since I was a young lass getting married," Anthea said. She sipped her cognac-infused egg nog and leaned back in her chair. "I hear the gays can make babies now."  
  
"Well, they can adopt," Elaine said. "Trans men can get pregnant, I guess..."  
  
"I saw a pregnant man on the news," Anthea said. Then she gave Anthony a stern look. "So, Cornelius, when are you going to put a baby in Sören?"  
  
Anthony had chosen that moment to take a sip of his drink and promptly ended up wearing it. "Er."  
  
Sören's face was on fire. He felt a little flutter in his stomach when he thought of their vacation to Brighton, that brief flash of a vision where his belly was round with a pregnancy bump and he and Anthony were very happy together. He thought of his brother's theory that other universes existed, and he wondered if there was another universe where biological males could in fact give birth.  
  
"You should give your mother grandchildren," Anthea said. "Give me a great-grandchild or two to spoil." She nodded sagely.  
  
Elaine was shaking with silent laughter, and quietly poured Anthony a shot glass of straight whisky, which Anthony knocked back; he held the empty glass out to his mother for a refill. Sören was trying very hard not to laugh, and failing.  
  
Then Anthea changed the subject, for better or worse. "Where are you from, Sören?"  
  
"Iceland," Sören said. "I came here in 2010."  
  
"Iceland... you lot have elves there, right?"  
  
"So I've been told," Sören said. A non-trivial percentage of Icelanders believed in the existence of elves, including professed atheists. Sören's internal jury was out on whether or not elves were real, but then in those strange dreams that he and Anthony had been having, they looked quite like elves...  
  
"Did Elaine or Anthony tell you we have Sidhe blood?" Anthea raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Oh, Mum." Elaine shook her head.  
  
"Clan MacLeod intermarried with fairies, that's why we have the Fairy Flag," Anthea insisted. "So if you put a baby in him, Cornelius, the elf blood and the fairy blood, you'll have magic changeling children." Anthea nodded.  
  
Sören tried very hard to not crack up laughing over dinner, but finally when he washed dishes in the kitchen - which he insisted on doing for Elaine, despite her protests - Sören doubled over the sink, tearing up. Anthony got a mock irate look on his face, reached under the faucet and splashed Sören, and Sören splashed him back, and the two were in a splash war, giggling and tickling each other when Elaine walked in.  
  
"I feel like I should apologize," Elaine said. "Mum has... dementia, and." She sighed.  
  
"Oh." Sören felt a pang of sadness - he liked Anthea, he could see her eccentric, bonne vivante nature was why Elaine was the way she was, and for all of Anthony's suave professionalism he had inherited a touch of that offbeat quirkiness which was why they got along as well as they did. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Yeah, me too." Elaine frowned. "For now she's still, well, mostly lucid and not combative, but this may be one of the last good years she has left."  
  
Sören didn't want to think about dementia running in the family, about Elaine going that way, or worse, Anthony. Sören turned off the water, marched over to Elaine, and gave her a hug.  
  
"She didn't offend me, though," Sören said when they pulled apart.  
  
"That's good. I know it got awkward in there when she..." And then Elaine spluttered, gigglesnorting, and Anthony also laughed, turning beetroot.  
  
When Anthea and Donovan retired to one of the guest rooms, Sören and Anthony went back up to Anthony's room. "So, when are you going to put a baby in me?" Sören asked, suddenly deadpan, not able to resist trolling him.  
  
Anthony facepalmed and shook with laughter. "Sören..."  
  
He stopped laughing when Sören kissed him. Their clothes quickly came off, and Sören began to ride Anthony, with Anthony sitting up a little so they could kiss.  
  
"We're doing this," Sören said, looking at his ring, feeling giddy and crazy with love. "We're getting married."  
  
"Yes." Anthony stroked Sören's face. "I want to spend my life with you, Sören."  
  
"I want to spend my life with you, too." Sören couldn't resist. "Babies or no babies."  
  
Anthony laughed. "_Jesus..._"  
  
They kissed, laughing together, and then, remembering the kinky thrill of last night, Sören husked, "But if I could get pregnant, you'd be all over me lactating, wouldn't you?"  
  
"Oh, _fuck._" Anthony shuddered, and Sören smiled as he felt Anthony's cock throb inside him, Anthony rocking into him a little harder.  
  
Sören grabbed Anthony's head and pulled it to his chest. "Here, my love. You work so much, get so stressed out... let me take care of you..."  
  
Anthony suckled, and Sören pet him, and Anthony thrust into him harder, faster. Sören got right on that edge, indescribably turned on by this new kink they'd discovered, making their brother roleplaying even naughtier. "Mmmmm, that's right," Sören said, holding him. "Nurse on your brother..."  
  
"_Mmmmf_," Anthony moaned, suckling harder.  
  
Sören bounced on him as Anthony pulled on the nipples with his lips, sucking so hard it almost hurt; Sören loved it, getting closer and closer to climax. "Nurse on me, brother. That's a good boy..." Sören stroked his hair. "Such a good boy."  
  
"_Mmmmm._" Anthony looked into Sören's eyes, needy and pleading. The little catch of breath let Sören know he was right there, too. "Brother..."  
  
"Have all you want, baby brother." Sören guided Anthony's head back and shivered, getting even closer as Anthony resumed suckling. "Mmmmm, oh, that's such a good boy..."  
  
Anthony drove into Sören savagely, making little growling noises as he suckled Sören's nipples for all he was worth. When he tugged a nipple ring with his teeth, heat in his eyes, Sören climaxed, throwing his head back and crying out, even though they had been trying to keep it down. Anthony followed a few seconds later, groaning as his entire body shook, giving a shuddery sigh.  
  
"God, we are kinky fuckers," Sören laughed as they snuggled together.  
  
"That's why we belong together." Anthony kissed Sören's brow and squeezed him.


	30. Different Worlds

Sören chewed the ice in his glass of water, and shot a filthy look over at the next table. _If I get through the night without killing these asshats, it will be a fucking miracle._  
  
For his first get-together with his friends in the new year of 2013, Anthony had been the one to suggest the venue and activity this time: going to see a jazz band in a club in Shoreditch on Friday the eleventh, a night Sören had off. Anthony had been in the habit of going to gigs before he and Sören were together, and it was something he rather missed doing, and Sören enjoyed live music so he was happy to do this with Anthony when they both had time and were in the mood. But Anthony's friends coming along had been the wrong move - apart from Lawrence, who was relaxing and quietly enjoying the music, the others were passing around their cell phones to look at stuff on the Internet and take selfies and post to social media and worse, were chattering. Though they were attempting to keep it down, their voices still carried, especially when they laughed. And now, over an hour into the gig, Sören felt about ready to scream. Trisha's giggling was especially getting on his very last nerve.  
  
To make matters worse, every time Trisha or Jack or Steve tapped or shook Anthony and wanted him to look at something, he did, and would get caught up in the latest round of show-and-tell, commenting or laughing, though he was noticeably starting to tense up and every now and again his eyes would meet Sören's and he would roll his eyes, letting Sören know he was annoyed too. Sören wondered why he didn't say anything to them, but then, Sören wasn't saying anything either, not wanting to rock the boat and cause problems with them.  
  
When the show was over, one last round of drinks was ordered, and Jack passed around his cell phone, showing off some upgrades to his yacht. Sören felt even surlier now and had to fight off the urge to make a rant about the poor in London suffering while people threw around money like it was water. He bit his tongue, feeling like he'd be a hypocrite since he and Anthony lived rather comfortably in Kingston, but on the other hand Anthony didn't own a yacht and did make regular contributions to charity.  
  
But Sören did make a statement by barely glancing at the photo gallery, quickly passing the phone over to Anthony. He was irritated that Anthony took as long as he did looking at the gallery, not wanting Anthony to enable the ridiculousness, and when Anthony passed the phone back to Jack their eyes met and Sören looked away, trying to send the message that he was annoyed. Anthony squeezed his knee under the table, an attempt at consolation, and then Anthony said, "I have an announcement to make."  
  
_Oh please, let it be "you're all fucking arseholes",_ Sören thought to himself, chewing some more on his ice.  
  
Anthony put an arm around Sören. "Sören and I are getting married." He kissed Sören's cheek, and Sören couldn't help but smile, even though he was still annoyed, and he reached out to stroke Anthony's face.  
  
When he did, his ring flashed in the light, and Trisha grabbed Sören's hand - Sören felt himself recoil, not wanting to be touched by people without permission, and especially not his hands, which were his livelihood as a surgeon - and she wrenched his hand towards her. "Let's see that ring," she said. She turned Sören's wrist this way and that, so the diamonds sparkled, until Sören couldn't help but say, "Do you mind?" and pulled his hand back.  
  
"Sheesh," Trisha said.  
  
"I operate with these hands," Sören said. "I can't afford a wrist or finger injury."  
  
"Oh please, I wasn't pulling _that_ hard." Trisha sniffed.  
  
Anthony gave her a look. "Maybe you should ask before touching next time."  
  
Sören wished that Anthony had said that as soon as Trisha grabbed him, but he wasn't going to harp on it just yet. Now Vincente and Jack were giving them looks, and Sören felt like he needed to keep the peace, so he held his hand out at a distance for Trisha to look again.  
  
"Very nice," Trisha said without emotion. She sipped her gin and tonic and then she said to Anthony, "Those diamonds are a bit small, yeah? I hadn't even noticed that was an engagement ring till you pointed it out. You couldn't have gotten a solitaire?"  
  
Sören couldn't believe it. That was one of the rudest things he'd ever heard in his life. Anthony blinked but otherwise didn't visibly react, and Sören realized he was now seeing the courtroom predator, Anthony turning off his emotions. "I researched NHS regulations on rings before I bought one," Anthony informed her. "He can only wear a band, so a large solitaire would have been against the dress code. Thus, that particular design."  
  
"Right," Trisha said. "I keep forgetting Sören works for the NHS and isn't private." She sniffed at that and Sören bristled, fighting the urge to lecture Trisha about the importance of socialized medicine and what happens to people in countries like the US - Sören couldn't believe the horror stories of Americans with crushing medical debt.  
  
Instead of defending the NHS, not wanting to get into an argument with Trisha or anyone else at that table who might be Tory, Sören defended the ring itself. "I like it," he said. "It's classy and elegant, not gaudy." He meant it - he would have gracefully accepted a solitaire engagement ring with a large rock, but he would have been uncomfortable flaunting something like that especially when he sometimes had poorer patients. And he liked the simple eternity design, the little diamonds going all the way around the band.  
  
"I also thought an eternity design was appropriate," Anthony said, as if he were reading Sören's mind. "Symbolic of wanting to spend the rest of my life with him."  
  
Sören's face flushed and his stomach fluttered, the warm glow melting the residual annoyance with Anthony. Sören gave him a squeeze under the table, and Anthony began to rub Sören's knee as he calmly sipped his water.  
  
"Trisha, would you listen to yourself?" Lawrence snorted and rolled his eyes. "I remember hanging out on Electric Avenue as a boy wearing shoplifted trainers thinking I would give my eyeteeth for a little bling. There is nothing the matter with that ring."  
  
And then Sören's brain distracted him from the increasing ire with Trisha and the rest of them - except maybe Lawrence - with clamping onto what Lawrence said. "Wait... Electric Avenue is real?" Now the Eddy Grant song from the 1980s was going through his head.  
  
Lawrence chuckled, nodding. "Yes, it's a real place. In Brixton, where I'm from originally. I spent a lot of time there growing up."  
  
"You're taking the piss, right?"  
  
"I am not. Swear on me mum."  
  
Vincente finally spoke up, which made Sören do a double take - he was the quietest one of the group. "Would you guys like to come over tomorrow for tea and cocktails? We got a new home theatre system and we're keen on getting some second opinions..."  
  
"Sure, I'll be there," Steve said.  
  
"Me too," Jack said, nodding.  
  
"I guess I could swing by," Lawrence said.  
  
While Sören knew that Vincente was trying to save face for his girlfriend's rudeness, he felt the resurgence of annoyance at yet again, the latest new shiny thing being shown off to the group. He wondered if anybody in the group besides Anthony and possibly Lawrence ever did anything that didn't involve spending a lot of money, like going for a walk in the park or reading a book. Sören had all day Saturday off, though he would have to work early Sunday morning, and the very last thing he wanted to do with his day off was see these people again. He looked at Anthony, pleading with his eyes. _No. Say no..._  
  
Anthony's eyes met Sören's for a few seconds and then he looked back at Vincente. "Sören and I have other plans, sorry." They hadn't committed to anything yet. Still, Sören tried not to visibly breathe a sigh of relief. _Oh, thank fuck. Thank fuck..._  
  
"Maybe another time, then," Vincente said, nodding.  
  
"Oh, that's too bad," Trisha said, in a fake syrupy way that told Sören she wasn't really disappointed at all, and she gave Sören a little icy glare before sipping her gin and tonic.  
  
Anthony had only had one drink since he was driving, and drove slowly and carefully on the way back to Kingston. They were quiet for a little while, and the silence got awkward rather than comfortable and Sören finally said, "So we have plans, huh?"  
  
Anthony nodded. He glanced over at Sören and said, "Whatever you want to do tomorrow." He looked down for a moment. "I feel like I should make it up to you somehow, dragging you out tonight -"  
  
"Well..." Sören exhaled sharply. "I feel sorrier for you, honestly. You had wanted to see that gig and they kept talking through the music, and then Trisha was passive-aggressive about the ring..."  
  
"And the NHS." Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't just me she dug at."  
  
"I'm really past the point of understanding why you bother. If those were my 'friends' I would have been done with them awhile ago."  
  
"They're not always like that."  
  
_Even once in awhile is too goddamn much,_ Sören thought to himself but he didn't say it aloud.  
  
"I can have a word with Trisha before the next get together," Anthony said. "I didn't want to call her out and make a scene there in public. I argue all week long for a living, tonight I really just wanted to not get in arguments with anybody." Anthony gave Sören a pointed look. "That means you, too."  
  
That was Sören's cue to drop it. He shifted in his seat.  
  
"So... any thought to what you'd like to do tomorrow?" Anthony asked, changing the subject.  
  
The "Electric Avenue" earworm started in Sören's head again. "Can we go to Electric Avenue? I need to see that this is real with my own eyes."  
  
Anthony's eyebrows went up a little. "Have you ever been to Brixton?"  
  
"Uh, no. Remember, I came here in 2010, I lived in Bromley, then moved in with you, and I work crazy hours. I haven't had a whole lot of time for touring London."  
  
"OK." Anthony gave a small nod. "Are you _very_ sure that you want to go."  
  
"Uh... yeah?" Sören didn't understand why Anthony sounded a little hesitant to take him.  
  
When they got home, they showered, brushed their teeth, and Anthony gave Sören an enthusiastic blowjob, as if he sensed Sören's annoyance with him and was trying to make up for the awkwardness of the evening. Sören returned the favor and then they snuggled together, falling asleep tangled up, and all felt mostly back to normal in the morning. After breakfast they got changed and Anthony once again asked, "You're sure you want to go to Brixton today."  
  
"Yes." Sören raised an eyebrow. "I said yes already, Anthony."  
  
When Anthony wasn't looking, Sören packed George in the satchel. "We're going on a little adventure," he told the wig, then laughed to himself, aware he was talking to an inanimate object.  
  
It became apparent to Sören once they arrived in Brixton why Anthony had seemed slightly uncomfortable with going - Brixton was rough, a little edgy, and it once again underscored that Anthony came from money and privilege, very much out of his element here. Nonetheless, Anthony was a good sport about taking him, and they got out to walk around on Electric Avenue. On the street sign someone had painted the words "We're gonna rock down to" and Sören roared with laughter, taking pictures with his cell phone, including a selfie... and including a picture of George, which made Anthony facepalm and laugh.  
  
Because of the time it had taken to drive from Kingston to Brixton, Sören wanted to make the trip worth the while and do a little exploring. As luck would have it, the same band they'd gone to see last night was having an afternoon show at a club, and they managed to get in and get a table. Anthony leaned on Sören, relaxing as the music played, and of course Sören wasn't going to be like his friends and interrupt constantly for Anthony to look at things. When the show was over and they headed out, Anthony said, "That was nice."  
  
"Já, I don't see the point of going to a show like that if you're not going to, like, pay attention."  
  
Anthony sighed, and gave Sören the same look he'd given last night indicating Sören should drop it. Sören decided to change the subject, gesturing across the street from the club, where there was a Caribbean restaurant. "Hungry?"  
  
Sören asked for recommendations from the man at the counter when it was their turn in the queue, who was happy to give them, and they sat down with rice and peas and jerk chicken. Sören took a picture to show Colin later, and dug in. He was pleasantly surprised by how hot the jerk chicken was - he liked spicy food, even though Icelandic cuisine such that it was didn't use a lot of spices, and he'd found what most English people thought had "heat" was fairly mild. Anthony impressed him by being able to eat it, and Sören asked, "If I got a recipe and made this once in awhile, would you eat it?" and Anthony nodded; Sören didn't get the sense he was lying to try to go along. Sören smiled, pleased that he'd made a new food discovery and one where he could diversify things a bit on the occasions when he cooked for them.  
  
The meal was also fairly inexpensive, and in Sören's opinion as good as anything they'd paid top dollar for in an upmarket restaurant. Sören found himself even more annoyed with Anthony's crowd when they got back in the car to return home, but he decided to just keep his opinion to himself, not wanting to spoil the good mood they were both in.  
  
  
_  
  
  
The next day when Sören got out of work, Anthony picked him up at National and drove him out to Blackheath for Sunday dinner with Elaine and Roger. Anthea and Donovan were still in town, though not for much longer, and Sören gave Anthea a hug before he sat down in the greatroom.  
  
"Cornelius, I have a gift for you," Anthea said.  
  
"Oh!" Anthony's eyebrows shot up. "That was unexpected."  
  
"Well, it's your birthday soon, isn't it?"  
  
"In a few weeks yet."  
  
"I'll be in Cancun, so might as well give it to you now."  
  
Elaine stepped out, and came back with Anthea's present for her grandson - a bin that contained an antique Wedgwood bone china tea service, wrapped up carefully. Elaine unwrapped a couple of the pieces to show them. "This was my mum's," Anthea said. "I believe it was made in the early 1800s."  
  
It was easily worth tens of thousands of pounds. "Gran, that's too much," Anthony said.  
  
Anthea looked at Elaine and then at Anthony. "You're my only daughter's only child. It has to go _somewhere._ Consider it a combination birthday and wedding present."  
  
Anthony hugged his grandmother. He looked a little distressed, as if the gift cemented that Anthea knew she probably didn't have more than a few years left.  
  
Elaine carefully handed a teacup to Sören. Even though Sören did delicate surgery for a living, he still felt nervous handling the china, worrying it would somehow get broken. He also felt somewhat embarrassed with the teacup in his hand and he realized he was once again feeling like he was out of his element, walking in a world he didn't quite belong in. Elaine and Roger had never made Sören feel like he was unworthy of the family for not coming from money - just the opposite, they had both been very kind to him. But here and now, looking at a tea service which was as much as a year's rent in London if not more, Sören felt acutely aware of his background versus Anthony's.  
  
"I have something for you too, Sören, dear," Anthea said, turning to Sören.  
  
_Oh no._ Sören's face was on fire. "Oh, you don't have to get me anything -"  
  
"Nonsense, you're marrying my grandson and going to give me adorable great-grandbabies with that little face of yours." Anthea pinched Sören's cheek and tugged on it; Anthony's lips quirked in a slow, mischievous smile, Anthony's own cheeks flushing pink. Elaine rolled her eyes, facepalmed, and chuckled; Anthea still hadn't figured out two biological males couldn't in fact make babies "these days".  
  
Elaine brought out another bin, with an item wrapped up inside. Sören gasped when he unwrapped it. It was a glass egg on a stand, the stand silver scrollwork with pearls, the crystal glass robin's egg blue with an iridescent wash, delicate silver flowering vines wrapping the egg. Anthea opened the egg and there was a silver phoenix inside, and room to hide small trinkets or jewelry.  
  
"House of Fabergé," Anthea said matter-of-factly, showing him the mark.  
  
Sören gasped, tears coming to his eyes. "I... I can't accept this, this is too much -"  
  
"You will." Anthea snorted. "Someone tells me you have a phoenix inked on your back and your favorite color is blue. This has been with me a long time, it feels like you're meant to have it now."  
  
"And it's an egg," Elaine teased gently. "Now you can always remember my mum asking when Anthony is going to put a baby in you."  
  
Sören tried not to howl as Anthony turned beetroot and looked like he wanted to crawl into the floor and die. Roger poured Anthony a shot of whisky and Anthony downed it. Then Sören looked back at the beautiful egg, and the firebird sitting inside. He was entranced by the play of color in the glass crystal, the subtle rainbows. In his mind's eye Sören saw himself in a forge, blowing glass...  
  
"Have you two decided on a wedding date yet?" Anthea asked.  
  
Sören looked at Anthony, and shrugged. "Sometime when I don't have to work nonstop?" Sören gave a bitter little laugh, feeling more exhausted than usual from his shift.  
  
"Well," Anthony said, "we could get married on our anniversary in November. Then our honeymoon could coincide with your birthday."  
  
"Oh, I'd like that." Sören smiled.  
  
"That's far enough in advance to plan," Elaine said, nodding.  
  
"June is more traditional," Anthea said, "but I say who cares about tradition. Besides, if ever there was a time to get out of bloody England for awhile, it's November."  
  
"Exactly," Elaine said.  
  
"Well, neither of us are keen on warm places like you are, Gran," Anthony said. "Hawaii and the Canary Islands are gorgeous, I'd love to see them someday, but I'd melt and turn into a lobster."  
  
"I really liked the Swiss Alps for my birthday," Sören said, feeling a little wistful. "I wouldn't mind going back there."  
  
"OK," Anthony said. "That makes two of us."  
  
At dinnertime Sören started to get choked up again, thinking about the egg. Elaine and Anthony both noticed, and Elaine finally asked, "What's wrong, dear?"  
  
"It's just." Sören made a vague hand gesture. "That egg. Those are super rare and expensive, and..."  
  
"People like you are super rare, from what I've been told," Anthea said.  
  
Sören started to cry, even though he really didn't want to cry in front of Roger. Anthony put down his utensils and dabbed Sören's eyes with a napkin and put his arms around him.  
  
"Forgive me for being rude," Sören said, "but where did you even get the kind of money to get a Fabergé egg?" It was one thing to know Elaine and Roger were very comfortable because Roger had worked as an accountant and Elaine was an architect and Elaine had designed multimillion dollar homes around the world. But Anthea...  
  
"Mum's in direct line of descent from one of the old MacLeod chiefs, though that branch of the family has been in England for the last two centuries," Elaine said. "And Mum was a painter. She painted under the name Anthea Evangeline."  
  
"I had some wealthy patrons," Anthea said. "And famous."  
  
"I have some of Mum's art hanging up," Elaine said, and gestured to one of the abstract paintings on the wall of the dining room.  
  
"Oh, those are _yours_?" Sören asked.  
  
Anthea nodded solemnly.  
  
"You should show Gran your work sometime," Anthony said, petting Sören's arm.  
  
Sören's face was on fire again. "Oh god. I... I don't know..."  
  
"Oh, do you paint?" Anthea's eyes twinkled.  
  
"I do it with the tablet now, since it's so hard to get my oils set up, but, ah." Sören ran a nervous hand through his curls. "It's a hobby."  
  
"One you're damned good at," Anthony said.  
  
"I agree with Cornelius, I'd love to see your art," Anthea said.  
  
"I. Ah. Er." Sören made a little high-pitched sound of distress.  
  
But before Sören could protest further, Anthea turned to Donovan and asked, "Sander, dear, would you be a love and refill my glass?"  
  
And Sören realized that for all that Anthea seemed lucid and with-it today, she had just called Donovan by the name of her late husband, Lysander. Sören tried not to cringe, and saw the visible distress on both Elaine and Donovan's face, as Donovan quietly poured Anthea another drink.  
  
Before Sören and Anthony left to go back home - they had to work tomorrow, Sören's shift was very early - they went out to the garden, even though it was January and everything was covered in frost, it was still peaceful. Sören had noticed the garden was Anthony's sanctuary, where he would retreat year-round if he needed a little while to decompress from stress. Sören could tell Anthony was still a bit shaken up by Anthea's slip with "Sander", as well as the very lavish gifting earlier, and Sören put a hand on Anthony's arm, gently rubbing.  
  
Donovan stepped out then and quietly joined them. "Hey," he said.  
  
"Hello," Anthony said, sounding distant.  
  
There was awkward silence and then Anthony asked the obvious. "Is she... well..." Anthony cleared his throat. "Is she in the right place to be giving us that stuff?"  
  
"Probably," Donovan said. "It comes and goes. She can be lucid and then have a slip. I've been observing her for some years."  
  
Sören couldn't help but ask, even though he knew he might be overstepping boundaries. "When you and her... ah, started this arrangement, was she..."  
  
"It was before she was diagnosed with dementia," Donovan said, nodding. "Ten years ago. I'm forty -"  
  
"Wow, you don't look it," Sören said; he looked closer to their age.  
  
"I get that a lot." Donovan smiled. "It gets old." He frowned. Then he went on, "I was actually interviewing Anthea, when we met, about her art. I'm a freelance journalist. She and I struck up a connection. I'd found her art career interesting, and wanted to re-introduce her work to a new generation. Our relationship isn't conventional, no. But we mutually enjoy each other's company and benefit from our arrangement. I'm not going to turn my back on her even though she, you know." He sighed. "I'm very fond of her."  
  
"OK. I just wanted to make sure..."  
  
"Oh believe me, Sören, if he was taking advantage either Mum or myself would have torn him a new one," Anthony said.  
  
_But you can't stand up to your "friends."_ Sören kept the thought to himself. He knew it was uncharitable - it was a very different situation than this one - and Sören hated the knee-jerk reaction, feeling like he was being unfair to Anthony, who had such a lonely childhood and was compensating for it now. And yet...  
  
Back at the flat in Kingston, Sören took out the egg and continued admiring it, while Anthony curled up with a book - _The Lathe of Heaven_ by Ursula K. LeGuin. He kept glancing over his book at Sören, and finally he put the book down and smiled.  
  
"I still can't get over this egg," Sören said. He looked into Anthony's eyes. "I... I've never had..."  
  
"I know." Anthony came over, took Sören's hands in his, kissed them, and pulled him close. "I've told you this before, but it bears repeating: I want you to have nice things. I want you to have the sort of things you didn't think were possible growing up. I want to take care of you. I want to spoil you, you deserve to be spoilt."  
  
A tight lump formed in Sören's throat. He appreciated the sentiment, but he also didn't want to turn into people like Trisha or Jack. Then a groan bubbled out of him, realizing they were going to have to invite Anthony's friends to the eventual wedding.  
  
"Are you OK?" Anthony pulled back.  
  
Sören nodded. "Just... thinking about wedding stuff." Sören laughed. "I know that's months out, but."  
  
"Well, Mum said she wants to help us handle things, since she has time and we don't."  
  
That still wasn't very comforting - Sören wondered how fancy the wedding was going to get if Elaine was planning it. While Anthony rocked a suit and Sören loved looking at him in menswear, Sören didn't relish the prospect of being forced into a tuxedo, himself.  
  
"We'll just think of, you know. Practical considerations. Like the honeymoon," Anthony said.  
  
Sören nodded. Then he said something else that he'd been thinking about since the proposal. "I think I'm going to take your name."  
  
"Oh!" Anthony cocked his head to one side. He smiled. "Really?"  
  
Sören nodded again. "Everyone calls me Sigurðsson and that's, you know. A patronymic, not a surname. Back home in Iceland we're all on a first-name basis, even the President and Prime Minister. I'm still not used to it. So if I'm going to be addressed the English way, then I might as well be Sören Hewlett-Johnson."  
  
Anthony stroked Sören's face. "I love you, you know."  
  
"I love you too." And despite the differences in their backgrounds, which the last couple of days had felt glaring more than ever, that was what mattered. They were building a life together.  
  
"Here, Mr. Hewlett-Johnson," Anthony said, getting up from the couch, picking Sören up and carrying him. "Let me show you how much I love you." With that, Anthony carried Sören down the hall to their bed.


	31. A Moment of Peace

"_Elskan?_"  
  
Anthony looked up from his book. "Yes, love?"  
  
"What do you want to do for your birthday? That's coming up in a week, and I put in to get off the second through the fifth so we can do something..."  
  
"Oh!" Anthony put down the book and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Honestly, I haven't really thought of it. Work has had me so stressed out that when I get home I just need to not think about things..."  
  
"I know, but, you know." Sören made a vague hand gesture. "If we're going to fly anywhere we should make airline and hotel reservations now..."  
  
"Honestly?" Anthony cocked his head to one side. "Let's just do Brighton."  
  
"_Really._" That surprised Sören. _You won't have anywhere to brag about to your friends._ Sören wanted to smack himself for having that reaction, not wanting to be bitter, but his resentment of Anthony's friends was growing all the time.  
  
"Really." Anthony nodded. "I think being by the sea will help me recharge my batteries, so to speak."  
  
Sören giggled. "Batteries? What are you, a robot now?"  
  
"God, this past couple of weeks I've felt like it." Anthony rubbed his face and pinched the bridge of his nose.  
  
"Well..." Sören felt genuinely bad for Anthony's visible stress and came over to him, sitting on an arm of the armchair, reaching down to rub Anthony's shoulders. Anthony made a noise and leaned in to Sören's touch. Sören cupped Anthony's chin in his hand, tilted his face up, and grinned as he said, "I should check to see if you're fully functional or not."  
  
Anthony snickered at the _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ reference. He got up, took Sören's hand, and led him down to the bedroom.  
  
  
_  
  
  
  
Snow was falling as Anthony and Sören took off on the morning of Saturday, February second, where they'd be spending the weekend through Monday, February fourth, coming back on Tuesday the fifth and returning to work on Wednesday the sixth. Sören enjoyed the drive in the snow, watching the falling flakes and the world blanketed in white, cozy in the heated car, drinking a thermos of hot coffee.  
  
They had gotten to sleep late last night, staying up to watch a movie together then making love, and they'd had an early start this morning, and despite the coffee they were both still tired, so after they brought their luggage and groceries inside, they changed back into pajamas and climbed into bed. After a few minutes Anthony got up, turned on the gas fireplace in the bedroom, and crawled back in bed beside Sören, snuggling closer to him, holding him tight, legs entwined.  
  
"You're always pretty warm, though," Anthony said, giving Sören a kiss on the cheek. "My living blanket."  
  
Sören smiled as he drifted off to sleep.  
  
A few hours later Sören woke up and Anthony was still sleeping. He watched Anthony sleep for a little while, lashes framing his cheeks, short dark hair tousled, looking peaceful and innocent, the light of the fireplace making him even more beautiful. Snow was continuing to fall outside and Sören felt that cozy, safe feeling again, here in the little beach house with the fireplace going, tangled up together under a pile of warm covers. He wished he could stop time and just rest here for awhile, away from the cares of the world, the stresses of their respective jobs, just _be_.  
  
Sören found himself petting Anthony's hair and after a few minutes of this Anthony stirred, stretching, smiling. He blinked his eyes open and there was such love in his green eyes when he looked at Sören that it brought tears to Sören's eyes, a lump in his throat, tight ache in his chest.  
  
Sören rained kisses over Anthony's face, making him laugh, and when their mouths met, Sören's stomach growled. Anthony laughed harder.  
  
"Sex can wait," Anthony said.  
  
Sören narrowed his eyes.  
  
"You run yourself into the ground every week," Anthony said, giving him a stern look. "You'll enjoy it more when you don't have low blood sugar."  
  
Sören gave an exaggerated sigh and Anthony patted his head. "Someone needs to look out for you," Anthony said.  
  
Though they'd brought some groceries, Sören made a face as he looked in the fridge and his stomach growled again, with everything needing time to cook. "You want to go for a walk to that cafe we like?" Anthony asked.  
  
Sören nodded, and they got dressed and bundled up. A couple of minutes into the walk, Sören was glad that yet again, something imperfect had blossomed into a moment of spontaneous perfection. The sea air and crisp winter chill felt good on his flushed cheeks, and there was something lovely about walking in the snow together, arm in arm, and seeing Anthony look around taking it in, Sören knew he was appreciating the beauty around them too and that made Sören feel closer to him, giving Anthony a squeeze which was returned.  
  
They ate outside at one of the _al fresco_ tables, even though the snow was falling lightly. Sören noticed it was a lot less busy here than it was in the summer or even the fall, and he welcomed the quiet, snuggling into his coat as he smiled across from Anthony, who was playing footsie with him under the table.  
  
"This is nice," Anthony said, looking out towards the sea.  
  
Sören nodded. "It's a shame we only have a few days."  
  
"This is honestly why I wanted to come here," Anthony said. "No hassle of travel, no time zone changes. Not many tourists." He gave a little smile. Then he looked out at sea again. "All I wanted for my birthday was to relax."  
  
"That says a lot about how stressed out you've been."  
  
Anthony nodded and sighed. "I never thought this life would be easy, when I was at university. I also didn't think it would be this _difficult_. I'm turning thirty-three in just a couple of days and I had a thought a little while ago, _I'd like to live here when I retire._ Who the hell at thirty-three is thinking about being old and retired? Clearly, someone who feels old. I need a break. I seriously, _badly_ need a vacation that's longer than a few days, or even more than a week or two. And..." Anthony shrugged. "Someone has to do this job."  
  
"I hear you." Sören nodded, thinking of his own job and how tired he was constantly, and yet... all those lives that needed saving.  
  
"Yeah, you get it." Their eyes met. "It's terrible that we both get each other in this way - we're both fucking addicts to the adrenaline of our respective lines of work, trying to save the fucking world. Except probably most people on your operating table aren't shit human beings, and most of the people who walk through my door aren't good people."  
  
"We both get it, yes." Sören nodded, feeling like he'd been punched, but it was the truth - he and his neurosurgeon colleagues were all adrenaline junkies. He reached across the table and stroked Anthony's hand. "I also get needing a vacation. And... living someplace like this upon retirement." Sören looked out at the sea. "It's so pretty here."  
  
"I think I could live anywhere, so long as you were there with me." Anthony's voice was husky with emotion, and Sören felt that ache again, smiling at him. "But yes, when we're old..." Anthony chuckled. "I'd like to live seaside."  
  
"I'd like that too. And I'll have more time for painting, then."  
  
"I hope you brought your tablet with you this weekend, in case you get inspired."  
  
"I did." Sören looked out at the sea again. "Actually, maybe we can stop by the house and get it, and sit at the beach for awhile?"  
  
"I'd like that."  
  
The snow was starting to die down, and had mostly stopped by the time Sören and Anthony returned to the beach house. In Sören's satchel, besides the tablet they packed a blanket to sit on, a blanket to cover up with if needed, and Anthony slipped in a copy of _The Farthest Shore_ by Ursula K. LeGuin.  
  
The shingle beach was snowy, and there was ice on the ocean. The late afternoon cast an old-gold haze in the air, and Sören was captivated, just sitting and looking around for awhile, taking it all in. But he did finally pick up his tablet and started to sketch - in his mind's eye he saw the two brother-lovers from his dreams, one dark one fair, walking along the shore together. It felt almost like a memory, not just something pretty to think about.  
  
_Trying to be so careful, lest there were prying eyes. Then at last the fair one stops and throws his arms around the dark one, holding him tight, sobbing. "Stay with me. Stay here. For good. Don't go back..."  
  
"I have to go back. You know this."  
  
"I never see you. I miss you so much..." A shuddery sigh. "I need you."_  
  
Sören put down his stylus and exhaled sharply, tears burning his eyes, feeling a gnawing ache. He could _feel_ it, the echo from long ago and far away, the increasing distance between visits, the missing each other that bordered on obsession. Here and now, even though Sören and Anthony lived together, Sören's shifting schedule and long hours meant their time was precious. Already, there was a sense of loss on this little holiday, that too soon it would be over, that they'd be thrown headlong back into their jobs and the stress and would have to carve out time again...  
  
Anthony seemed to sense the shift in Sören's mood. "You OK?"  
  
Sören nodded. "Já."  
  
Anthony quietly put down his book. He pulled up the blanket for huddling under, covered both of them, and leaned on Sören. Sören leaned on him, their heads together; Anthony took Sören's hand. They just sat like that, silent, watching the stark beauty of the snow-covered rocks, the icy sea, the steel blue overcast sky washing gold. It was a melancholy landscape today, but still beautiful, perhaps even the moreso, Sören thought, for its melancholy.  
  
The sunset came. They got up, rolled up both blankets and packed them in the satchel with the book, and then they took each other's hands and began to walk along the water's edge to watch the sunset together, the silver-and-gold now darkening to blue with plumes of pink and orange. The sky became intensely pink, and then began to fade to lavender and peach. At the first touch of blue twilight, they went back to the beach house, the snow falling again.  
  
The temperature had dropped enough that Sören, who usually ran hot, was shivering by the time they got in. "A hot shower might help warm us up," Anthony said, and started to undress. Sören followed him into the shower, and for the first couple of minutes they just clung to each other under the spray.  
  
Feeling skin on skin, the weight and shape of Anthony's body on his, Sören's cock woke to life, and Anthony's cock stirred as well. They kissed as they slowly, deliberately lathered each other, hands rubbing in languid, sensual circles. Their cocks rubbed together as they rinsed under the spray together, holding each other again, kissing deeply, hungrily. They kissed and caressed their way to the bed, and fell on the bed together, then resumed kissing, holding each other, cock rubbing cock.  
  
Anthony began kissing Sören's neck, then kissed down to his nipples, lapping them, suckling hard as his hands played over Sören's stomach and thighs, making Sören shiver and break out in gooseflesh. He kissed and licked down Sören's stomach and kissed and nibbled Sören's thighs, laughing softly as Sören writhed and howled, so exquisitely sensitive there it was going right to his cock, throbbing, aching. Anthony took Sören's cock into his mouth, sucking slowly, watching Sören gasp and sigh and tremble, and then he sucked harder, faster, gently cupping Sören's balls and rubbing them, fingers straying to that sensitive place between balls and ass. Already Sören felt himself right on that edge, but he wanted to please Anthony, too. This was his weekend, and more than that, Sören wanted to love him, take care of him, fuse with him in every way possible.  
  
"Stop," Sören called out, and Anthony stopped. At the look of concern Anthony gave him, Sören patted him and chuckled. "I want to suck you, too."  
  
They got in the sixty-nine position, laying on their sides. They held each other as they sucked, clinging, and that feeling of intimacy made it even hotter for Sören, safe together, safe enough to truly let go. Sören moaned with his mouth full, worshiping the beautiful cock in his mouth, honoring and adoring the beautiful man in his arms, feeling worshiped, honored, adored in turn. This was a soul-deep connection, and Sören knew Anthony could feel that too, Sören could feel it in his touch. But it was as carnal as it was spiritual, lust as strong as their love. Sören loved pleasing Anthony this way, making love to the long, thick, perfectly formed cock, hands wandering and exploring his body, feeling Anthony tremble, hearing the moans and sighs and little catches of breath. Sören loved losing control, hearing himself whimper around the cock in his mouth, undignified and not caring, only _needing_.  
  
Sören came first, making a high-pitched wail, and Anthony came a few seconds later with a deeper groan. Sören swallowed all that he could and lapped up the rest, and then he and Anthony sat up together and kissed, fiercely, passionately, tasting their combined essence, letting those last embers smolder, a promise of more later.  
  
Anthony lay down and pulled Sören into his chest, petting him, and Sören ended up falling asleep. When he woke up Anthony wasn't in bed, and Sören made a noise of protest at the cold, empty space next to him. Then he heard the toilet flush and Anthony peeked out. "Ah, you're awake."  
  
They got back in pajamas and went to the living room. Anthony resumed reading while Sören sketched; they had a light dinner, and it started snowing again. Sören went outside for a few minutes to watch the snow and look up at the night sky, remembering when he was a small child and he and Dag used to say goodnight to the moon and stars. Anthony came behind him, wrapping his arms around Sören's waist, and Sören leaned back against him, melting into the closeness. After a stolen kiss, they decided to go in and make love again, slow and sweet. As Sören faded once more in the bliss of post-orgasmic afterglow, he thought that this had been a near-perfect day, and once again had that ache, wishing they could stay longer, just be.  
  
  
_  
  
In the morning on Sunday, Sören made breakfast, and they mutually decided to go on the Undercliff Walk. Once again Sören was enchanted by the frozen sea, and when they stopped to look at the tidepools, there was snow on the rocks and the sight of Anthony in his wool greatcoat, strolling out on the frosted rocks looking out at the icy sea made Sören ache, burning into his mind's eye to paint later.  
  
He did just that when they got back at the beach house, feverishly working on his tablet as Anthony read. Sören found himself giving the piece a touch of magic, as often happened, merging the mental image of Anthony with the fair brother-lover of his dreams, where Anthony became even more regal, now wearing dark, somber robes instead of a greatcoat, a cape stirring in the breeze as he strode across the frozen tidepool. And though neither Anthony nor the fair one used anything like this, Sören drew Anthony with a gnarled walking stick... in Anthony's right hand, even though he was left-dominant. And though Sören struggled with titles for his paintings most of the time, the title for this one came to him right away: _The Fisher King_.  
  
After a few hours Anthony took a break from reading, wanting a nap, and though Sören was in "the zone" creatively and normally had a hard time stepping away from it, he also had been feeling strangely sad working on the painting, not really understanding why, and the thought of feeling Anthony against him, holding him, was very appealing, somehow needing the assurance that he was there and he was OK. Sören climbed under the covers with him, pet Anthony to sleep, and just watched him for awhile, feeling strangely protective of him, feeling a tight ache in his chest before sleep claimed him as well.  
  
They woke up to the howling wind; the snow was really coming down. Sören got started on dinner and while it cooked he joined Anthony at the storm window where there was a little ledge to sit on, and they watched the snow together. Anthony leaned on him and Sören pet his hair, massaged his scalp. Anthony made little contented noises and then a few minutes later he did the same for Sören, pulling him close, rubbing Sören's curls, fingers stroking Sören's scalp, relaxing and arousing him all at once.  
  
Sören was worked up during dinner, but he kept his impulse to drag Anthony off in check because among the groceries they had brought with them, Sören had bought ingredients to make a birthday cake, and he wanted to bake that tonight. Sören got started on making the cake after dinner, and Anthony tried to read but his curiosity got the better of him and he hovered in the kitchen. He stole a spoonful of cake batter and Sören gave him a look, though he was amused rather than annoyed.  
  
"What?" Anthony asked, sucking the spoon. "Taste testing the product here."  
  
"It's not even _done._"  
  
"So?" Anthony grinned at him.  
  
Sören pretended to be horrified as he poured the cake batter into a pan. Then he gave Anthony the bowl, with the leavings of cake batter, and a spoon. Sören put the cake in the oven and sat back down with his tablet, and ended up having a gigglefit watching Anthony eat cake batter out of the bowl in his pajamas like an overgrown child. It was even funnier to him knowing Anthony was this suave professional.  
  
"If your colleagues and clients could see you now," Sören said.  
  
Anthony turned beetroot. "A good thing they can't."  
  
Sören reached for his cell phone and snapped a candid photo. Anthony gave him a death glare and Sören took a picture of that, too, then howled at the ultra-serious expression on Anthony's face - though his eyes were laughing - as he clutched the bowl of cake batter. "My preciousssssss," Sören said in a Gollum voice. "My cakeses, precious."  
  
"You had better not show that to anyone?"  
  
"Who am I going to show that to? It's not like I have friends." The words came out before Sören could stop himself, and he immediately felt self-conscious about it, like there was something wrong with him compared to everyone else. And he felt the bitter sting of it - he wished he had friends. But with his schedule he barely had energy for a partner, and friendship had never come easily to Sören anyway, a bullied outcast loner growing up.  
  
Anthony frowned a little, and Sören immediately tried to lighten the mood. "Friendses, precious, we don't needs them."  
  
"I would have thought you'd consider my friends your friends." Anthony sounded somewhat hurt.  
  
Sören tried to keep the confusion off his face. For all that Anthony was observant, unnervingly so, he was _painfully_ obtuse on this subject, after months of Sören being awkward and uncomfortable around his friends. Sören didn't understand why Anthony didn't get it, but he decided the night before Anthony's birthday was not the time to try to pick a fight with him about it.  
  
Anthony got up and quietly did dishes, and Sören sat there feeling stung, even though they hadn't quite had any sort of confrontation or heated exchange. Sören felt ice in the pit of his stomach, wishing there was something he could say or do, but he wasn't going to lie to Anthony and say he liked Anthony's crowd to make him feel better, and Anthony would know he was lying anyway.  
  
When the dishwasher was running Anthony sat back on the couch and resumed reading. Sören's stomach did flip-flops, wanting to defuse the tension but not sure how. He decided he needed some air, and quietly got up, pulled on his trenchcoat and boots, and stepped outside, breath steaming in the crisp wind, snowflakes swirling around him. A few minutes later Anthony joined him, and they just stood there side by side, in the wind and the snow. Sören finally reached out and took Anthony's hand, and Anthony squeezed.  
  
"I love you, you know," Sören told him.  
  
"I know. I love you." Anthony traced little circles on Sören's wrist.  
  
"And you're my best friend." Sören turned to him and their eyes met.  
  
"You are too." Anthony gave him a hug.  
  
The issue hadn't totally gone away, but they would let it rest for now. Anthony followed Sören inside, and when Sören hung up his coat, Anthony said, "You've got snow on your face." With that, he kissed Sören's brow, his cheeks, his eyes, and the tip of his nose. Sören giggled and wrapped his arms around Anthony, who nuzzled Sören's beard.  
  
Sören joined him on the couch and leaned on him, zoning out as Anthony read, until the timer for the oven went off. Anthony hovered as Sören pulled the cake out of the oven. "It's too hot, and I have to frost it, anyway," Sören said, swatting him with a dishtowel.  
  
Anthony stuck his tongue out, then he picked off a tiny crumb and ate it, running away as Sören chased him with the dishtowel.  
  
They snuggled together on the couch as the cake cooled, and finally Sören got up to frost the lemon cake with a coconut buttercream frosting. He and Anthony ended up licking the frosting, and then Anthony began to tug on the tail of Sören's pajama shirt like an overenthusiastic kid. "Caaaaaaaake."  
  
Sören gigglesnorted. "It's still only the third. You can have your cake at midnight."  
  
"Caaaaaaaaaaake." Anthony pouted, making Sören laugh harder, and he laughed too.  
  
"No cake yet."  
  
There was an Indiana Jones movie marathon on, and every now and again Anthony tugged on Sören and said "Caaaaaaaaaaake", and Sören laughed and patted him on the head. A little past eleven Anthony seemed to doze off, but then at 11:59 his eyes opened and he said "CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE" and Sören doubled over, wheezing.  
  
"Goddammit Anthony..."  
  
Sören stuck tiny birthday candles in the cake - they were the trick candles that would keep relighting - and he dimmed the lights and sang  
  
_Hann á afmæli í dag  
Hann á afmæli í dag  
Hann á afmæli hann Anthony  
Hann á afmæli í dag_  
  
Anthony beamed, his eyes soft at the sound of Sören singing to him in Icelandic. He leaned in and blew out the candles, and scowled as they relit.  
  
When the candles were finally vanquished, Anthony informed Sören, "You are a little shit."  
  
"_Takk._"  
  
Sören cut them each a piece of cake and they settled back on the couch and fed each other forkfuls of cake. Anthony sucking on the fork, eyes locked with Sören's, made Sören's mind go right to the gutter, thinking of him sucking something else, and as soon as they finished their pieces of cake Sören yanked him up from the couch and hurried him off to the bed.  
  
Once they were naked, Sören pushed Anthony onto his back and kissed and licked him all over, then sucked him, slowly at first, then hungrily, working his tongue as he sucked, holding Anthony's hips as Anthony grabbed Sören's head and arched to him, moaning, panting, trembling. When Anthony came in Sören's mouth with a cry, Sören felt a sense of victory.  
  
Sören was also rock hard, turned on by pleasing Anthony this way, and he was glad when Anthony returned the favor, sucking fast and hard, devouring him. Of course Anthony had to tease, licking inside him for awhile as Sören writhed and whimpered and begged for release. When he focused on Sören's cock again he spent time just licking it, chasing the precum that flowed, and Sören saw him reaching down and knew he was touching himself. Sören shivered, cock throbbing, going out of his mind with lust at that, loving that Anthony was enjoying this as much as he was. Anthony licked Sören's cock until Sören was making high-pitched inhuman noises in between growling, swearing in Icelandic, and when Anthony at last took Sören back in his mouth Sören was quickly undone, giving a fierce, wild howl as he climaxed. Anthony swallowed it down with a "mmmmmmmmmm", and licked Sören clean, his tongue giving Sören delicious little aftershocks until Sören gasped and ground out, "Too sensitive."  
  
Anthony came up to kiss him, and Sören moaned as he tasted himself. As they kissed, Anthony rubbed his hard cock against Sören's thigh, letting him know he was ready for another round. When Anthony began kissing and licking Sören's neck, Sören's cock hardened again, also ready for more. Sören cupped Anthony's chin in his hand and traced the generous mouth with his thumb, until Anthony kissed Sören's thumb and sucked on it, making Sören giggle, then shiver at the heat in those green eyes. "What does my birthday boy want?" Sören husked.  
  
"Yes," Anthony said, and sucked Sören's thumb some more.  
  
Sören laughed and kissed the tip of his nose. "Well, I can't do everything at once, so... pick something."  
  
Anthony thought for a minute and then he leaned in and started kissing and licking Sören's neck, sending chills through him that went straight to his cock. Sören moaned, and then louder when wandering fingers brushed a nipple and began rubbing it, coaxing it to hardness. "I want you to fuck me," Anthony whispered, before nibbling at Sören's neck, making him moan again. "I want you to pound me into next week."  
  
Sören's cock throbbed. With a growl, he rolled Anthony onto his back and reached for the lube. "I can do that, baby brother." He claimed Anthony's mouth roughly, cock twinging again as he heard Anthony moan into the kiss. Sören pushed slick fingers into him, readying him as they kissed and kissed, hard cocks rubbing together. At last Sören anointed his own cock, and guided it to Anthony's passage.  
  
That first moment of union was always incredibly sweet, the way they gasped together and looked into each other's eyes, overcome by the feeling of being totally fused. Sören leaned in, took his hands and kissed him hard as he thrust slowly, and then Anthony let go of Sören's hands and wrapped his arms around him. He started kissing Sören's neck again, and Sören heard himself moaning, grunting as the feeling of Anthony's lips and tongue on his sensitive neck and Anthony's slick heat around his cock sent pleasure coursing through him.  
  
And then Anthony grabbed Sören's chin, made Sören look him in the eyes. "I said," he ground out, "_fuck me._" There was a wicked look in those green eyes that sent a frisson down Sören's spine.  
  
Sören loved it when he got demanding like this, and gave in, nipping Anthony's throat with a growl as he began to drive into him, harder and harder. Anthony dug his nails into Sören's back and rocked his hips back at him, giving as good as he got. Sören fought off his orgasm, but it got increasingly difficult with every moan, every growl, the slap of their flesh competing with the sound of their voices. Sören loved that desperate, pleading look on Anthony's face, completely lost, looking as lost in passion as Sören felt, overcome by sensation and emotion, the need to _mate_, to claim and be claimed, take and be taken, loving with every inch of their bodies.  
  
Anthony got louder as Sören fucked, and when his moans got longer and he was almost sobbing, Sören knew he was close. Sören kissed his neck, his throat, kissed down to a nipple, as he played with the hard, dripping cock that looked so delicious Sören wished he could suck and fuck at the same time. "Does my little brother want to come?"  
  
"Oh god." That telltale hitch of breath, the shudder as Anthony's nails raked Sören's back.  
  
"Mmmmm, I can't wait to come deep inside you, little brother, but you need to come for me first." Sören suckled, and his thumb rubbed the nipple in teasing circles as he kissed back up Anthony's neck. He went in for the kill. "_Komdu, litli bróðir. Sýna stóra bróður sem á þennan rass..._"  
  
"_Sören!_" There it was. Anthony let out a shuddery sigh and Sören groaned as he felt Anthony spill over him. "Sören. Oh god. Sören. _Sören..._"  
  
Three hard thrusts and Sören came with a deep, savage growl, biting Anthony's shoulder, shaking and gasping as he spent and spent and spent.  
  
And yet, they weren't done. They kissed, and one kiss became another and another, their cocks hardening up again. "Please," Anthony whispered, kissing Sören's neck. "Another."  
  
"Anything for my little brother on his birthday." Not that Sören ever minded fucking him any other time, but he knew what had an effect on him, and smiled as Anthony groaned, rolling his hips. Then Sören let out a cry as he began to hammer into him again, feeling even more luscious than before.  
  
"I hope you weren't planning on sleeping tonight." Anthony nipped Sören's lower lip.  
  
Sören giggled and gave him a little kiss, then growled and kissed him back harder, slamming into him harder, faster. "I hope you weren't planning on walking tomorrow."  
  
  
_  
  
  
It was close to eleven AM when Sören woke up, and he winced as he stretched, then he smiled, feeling deliciously sore, knowing exactly why he was that sore. He'd gotten quite a workout last night, fucking Anthony for hours, to climax after climax.  
  
He roused Anthony awake with little kisses, and then he restrained a smile as Anthony sat up and made a face. He couldn't help laughing as Anthony walked gingerly to the bathroom, though he did have some empathy, having been on the receiving end of that same predicament many times over.  
  
Sören went out to the kitchen, not caring that he was naked, and cut them each a piece of cake. When Anthony came out of the bathroom Sören was waiting for him in bed with cake. Anthony tried to run over like an excited big kid, then stopped and slowed down, and Sören snorted.  
  
"I almost feel like I should apologize," Sören said as Anthony got in bed, "but I'm not sorry."  
  
"Hi Not Sorry."  
  
Sören narrowed his eyes and Anthony grinned. "Would you like to wear this cake?" Sören asked, though he was amused rather than angry.  
  
Anthony batted his lashes. "I'd normally say yes, but we know where that would lead and you might end up killing me..."  
  
"Same here." Sören laughed. "God..."  
  
"You." Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "Were fucking awesome." He kissed Sören, and then he fed Sören a forkful of cake. They kissed again with cake in their mouths and Sören would have been aroused again if he wasn't so exhausted and spent from last night.  
  
"I love you, _elskan._" Sören fed him a forkful of cake. "Very much."  
  
Anthony kissed Sören's engagement ring. "My big brother takes good care of me."  
  
"Jæja, my little brother takes good care of me, too." Sören tousled Anthony's hair.  
  
After their cake, Sören was fully expecting Anthony to just want to stay there at the beach house and do nothing, maybe a walk to the beach at best, but Anthony surprised him by asking if they could go to the Royal Pavilion. That was what they did, though Anthony did have to walk a bit more slowly than usual.  
  
Sören loved the Royal Pavilion, even as he was horrified by how much the King had spent on it back then, and the riches of the royal family in general when there were so many in Britain who were struggling, going hungry. But the usual bitter pang he felt was softened by the enchantment of the palace in wintertime - a good amount of snow had fallen last night and the palace looked like something out of a fairy tale in the sparkling snow. Sören snapped photos with his cell phone, including selfies of himself and Anthony. Then he took some more time to marvel as they walked around the palace, and through the frozen gardens.  
  
They stopped for a hot chocolate at a cafe in the shops near the palace, and then one particular shop caught Sören's eye, and he tugged on Anthony's sleeve. "They sell outdoor sporting goods," Sören said. "Like sleds. I haven't been sledding since I was a kid. Maybe we could go sledding sometime."  
  
"Maybe we could go sledding today."  
  
"Are you sure?" Sören didn't want to exacerbate the soreness.  
  
Anthony nodded. "It would be fun."  
  
They bought an adult-sized sled and two inner tubes, and headed to Stanmer Park. There were small children there this Monday morning, some playing with parents, some playing by themselves as parents hovered in the distance. Sören snickered as they pushed the sled uphill, loaded with the two inner tubes, seeing that they were the only adults not accompanied by children who were going to play in the snow. Anthony grinned at him, noticing it too.  
  
They unloaded the inner tubes, and got in the sled together. Sören screamed as they coasted downhill, and laughed as the sled crashed to a stop in a snowbank at the bottom, throwing him out into the snow. They went back up and sailed down again, and then they each took an inner tube down the slope, laughing like madmen as the tubes spun wildly. They did another round with the inner tubes, then back down with the sled, and then one last drop with the inner tubes.  
  
They rested at the bottom of the hill, and then Sören decided he wanted to build a snowman. They sat down in the snow together, and began packing snow. As Sören fashioned a crude snowman, Anthony arranged the snow more artfully, which made Sören raise an eyebrow as normally he was the artistic one. The snow took shape, like a bird, and as Anthony made the arched neck he explained, "It's a swan." He gestured to the snowman. "He needs friends."  
  
"So... swan friends."  
  
"I really like swans, OK?"  
  
Sören couldn't help laughing at this - it tickled him just the right way. "That's so refined for Mr. Snowman here."  
  
"Well, maybe he's a gentleman snowman."  
  
Sören had to do what he did next, shaping an oversized, exaggerated penis out of snow and sticking it on the snowman. Anthony doubled over, wheezing. He tried to give Sören a stern look and failed.  
  
"Yes, so noble, Mr. Snowman here," Sören said. "HONK HONK, YOU WANT SOME FUCK?"  
  
Anthony fell over in the snow, and Sören beamed, proud of himself.  
  
"Sören, that's terrible even for you."  
  
"_Takk._"  
  
"Also, children might see that."  
  
"Oh." There weren't many kids over here, compared to the top of the hill; Sören had forgotten there were kids in the park at all. Sören quickly took off his scarf and threw it over the snowman's penis, which made it even worse and Anthony had a fit of laughter all over again.  
  
Then Anthony rolled a snowball and threw it at Sören. "Terrible."  
  
Sören rolled a snowball and threw it at Anthony, who dodged. "Fuck."  
  
They got into a snowball fight, sometimes hitting each other, sometimes missing, and then one of Sören's snowballs knocked the penis off the snowman instead of hitting Anthony and they lost it again, rolling around in the snow together.  
  
Back at the beach house, Sören worked on making dinner, steak and roasted fingerling potatoes and mushrooms. Anthony dozed off on the couch, and Sören thought that was just as well, as he'd wanted to surprise Anthony at least a little. He turned on the gas fireplace in the bedroom and set up bedding in front of the fireplace. When dinner was ready he woke up Anthony by rubbing his feet, and led him to the bedroom where it was waiting.  
  
"Awww, this is romantic." Anthony leaned on Sören's shoulder and nuzzled his beard.  
  
"I'm glad you approve."  
  
"Hi Glad You Approve -"  
  
"You know..."  
  
"I know." Anthony grinned and kissed Sören's nose.  
  
There was wine with dinner, and they ate and drank slowly, basking in the warm glow of the fireplace and the quiet joy of being together, having a quiet evening away from the world. After dinner there was more cake, and after Sören brought the dishes out to the kitchen he came back and they just curled up together, watching the fire.  
  
"I really wish we didn't have to go back tomorrow," Anthony said, frowning.  
  
"Me too. But we do."  
  
"Yeah." Anthony sighed. "We do." He turned to Sören. "At least we made the most of it while we could."  
  
They kissed and Sören said, "Night's not over yet."  
  
"No." They kissed again. "No it's not."  
  
They undressed each other, and lay down together in front of the fire. For a few minutes they just lay there, naked, looking into each other's eyes, touching, no need for words, letting their hands and eyes speak for them.  
  
At last they began kissing, holding each other close, cock rubbing cock as they kissed. They made love just like that, rubbing their cocks together, kissing, hands exploring, caressing each other's bodies, stroking each other's hair and faces, eyes meeting between kisses, lost in the look of love in each other's eyes, lost in the dreamy haze of sensuality, the powerful connection between them. This was, to Sören, as intimate as being inside each other, if not moreso. They teased their way to orgasm, rubbing slowly, then a little harder and faster, until they were grinding on each other feverishly, panting, gasping, trembling, sweat dripping down each other's bodies, cocks fully slick with precum, but still needing to savor, still needing to feel each other this way. It didn't matter that it was taking hours, bringing the tension to a breaking point so they were almost sobbing as they got closer... if anything, Sören knew the release would be all the more delicious for building so long.  
  
And when they climaxed, one was all they needed, intense and powerful as anything they'd ever experienced, pleasure so good it made Sören cry. They clung to each other, kissing deeply, and when they pulled apart and their eyes met once more Sören cried harder, loving him so much it hurt. He felt like he was burning like the fire in the hearth, the phoenix inked onto his back, aglow with radiant bliss.  
  
"My spirit of fire," Anthony said, as if he knew what Sören was feeling. He put a hand on Sören's heart. "You are my light."  
  
They nuzzled and kissed some more, and Anthony said, finally, "Thank you."  
  
"Thank _you._"  
  
Anthony laughed softly. "That was one of the best orgasms I've ever had." He looked into Sören's eyes, touched his face. "You are the best I've had. Period. End of story."  
  
"Same here." They kissed again.  
  
"The best. And the last." Anthony smiled. "You've completely ruined me for anyone else, you know."  
  
Sören thought of the occasional cravings he had for women, and older men, but pushed that thought away. He could go without to be with this man he loved. His best friend. His playmate. His soulmate.  
  
As they held each other and rocked together, Sören burned the memory of this night into his heart, tears in his eyes again. And in the early morning while Anthony was still sleeping, Sören sat with his tablet and painted, wanting to preserve the memory of them making love in front of the fireplace, side by side, cock to cock, looking adoringly into each other's eyes, bathed in the golden glow of the firelight, and what felt like a glow from within, their feelings for each other even stronger than they had been a year ago. Sören had painted two other erotic pictures of them, but he felt like this one was his magnum opus, wanting the love and the _light_ of their bond to shine through with every stroke of the stylus.


	32. Fortress Of Love

It was one AM when Sören left the National, feeling like his soul had been sucked dry. He'd come into work at nine AM and he'd been performing a deep tumor removal surgery on one patient all that time, with only a couple short breaks - a few hours ago Anthony had texted, and Sören had told him not to wait up.  
  
It was also about to be Valentine's Day - it was February thirteenth when Sören had arrived at work. He would have all of Thursday the fourteenth off, now, but Anthony himself was in the middle of a complicated court battle so Sören knew their Valentine's Day would be compromised by Anthony's stress from work, never mind Sören's own need to decompress after a long surgical procedure.  
  
Sören was _really_ looking forward to just crawling in bed next to Anthony, spooning him, and snuggling to sleep.  
  
When Sören made it up the stairs to their flat on the second floor, he saw light from underneath the door threshold - usually when he was coming back this late Anthony had the lights off. Sören opened the door and he saw Anthony sitting at his desk in his pajamas, wearing his wire-rimmed glasses, a pen between his teeth as he typed furiously at his laptop.  
  
"Loo-see, I'm ho-ome," Sören called, imitating Ricky Ricardo's accent.  
  
Anthony's eyes widened and he waved, flailing madly, and he said "hello" with the pen in his mouth, which came out as "herro". He took the pen out of his mouth, looking sheepish, and he cleared his throat and said, "Hello."  
  
Sören noticed the mug sitting next to Anthony at the desk. "How many cups of coffee have you had, exactly?"  
  
"...Yes."  
  
Sören snorted and chuckled. Then he said, "Be right back, have to decontaminate." As badly as he wanted to go over and give Anthony a hug, he was still in his scrubs, fresh from surgery. He went first to the kitchen sink to wash his hands, and then he went to the bedroom, got changed, and threw his dirty scrubs in the hamper they'd gotten just for Sören's scrubs, on the way back down to the living room.  
  
"I'd asked what time you were coming home because I would have picked you up," Anthony said, glancing over at Sören as he typed, fingers flying.  
  
"Well, I didn't even know. The surgery went on and on and on."  
  
"That bad?"  
  
"He didn't die or anything, but, you know. Deep tumor." Sören folded his arms. "And I would have expected you to go to bed, anyway."  
  
"I... I can't." Anthony gestured at the laptop. "Things have gotten _really interesting_, in the Chinese 'interesting times' sense, with this case."  
  
"You have court again tomorrow, já?"  
  
"Nine AM."  
  
"Are you actually planning on sleeping at some point?"  
  
Anthony gave a bitter laugh.  
  
"I mean it, Anthony. This is a doctor speaking. You should try to get at least a few hours of sleep."  
  
"I tried to make myself stop working on these notes earlier but I just lay there. It's better I not let this wait until the morning." Anthony pursed his lips. "The guy is innocent. I have to try to prove it."  
  
Anthony had a feverish, almost manic look in his eye. Sören recognized that look, not just from having seen it with Anthony before, but when he was on break during the surgery and washing his hands, Sören had seen the same look in his own eye, his mind not entirely away from the man on the operating table.  
  
As if Anthony knew what Sören was thinking, he replied with, "This is like surgery too. My work isn't done just because I'm not in the courtroom at the moment."  
  
"OK. Well, again, you do need _some_ sleep at _some_ point. You're already going to get less than eight hours if you let yourself sleep in till eight AM, and we both know you won't do that."  
  
"I'll take a nap in a couple of hours," Anthony said. "That's the best I can do."  
  
Sören made a face, and a disgruntled noise, but he knew from his own experience with not being able to shut his brain off that it was better not to argue with Anthony. Sören went to bed, giving a sad little sigh about being alone in the bed - he had been looking forward to curling up with the man he loved, and he found it harder to sleep without Anthony there beside him, tossing and turning for a bit. But eventually his exhaustion hit him enough that he felt himself dozing.  
  
He was woken up some time later by the feel of Anthony getting in beside him, and Sören instinctively rolled towards Anthony, making contented noises. "You feel nice," Sören mumbled.  
  
"Awwww." Anthony's arms wrapped around Sören, and Sören smiled at the feel of Anthony kissing the top of his head. "I love you, sweetheart."  
  
"Love you, _elskan._"  
  
Sören dozed off again, but his sleep was lighter. He kept waking up when he felt Anthony shifting, and when it became more frequent, and he heard Anthony grumble, he was finally roused out of sleep entirely. Sören sat up, rubbed his eyes, and saw Anthony lying awake, looking distressed.  
  
"Can't sleep?" Sören asked.  
  
Anthony shook his head. "It's like it was earlier. Trying just makes me feel more restless." He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  
  
Sören grabbed Anthony's arm and pulled him to an upright sitting position. He gently smoothed Anthony's hair, kissed his brow, and then got up from the bed and gestured for Anthony to follow. "Here. I'm going to try to help you shut your mind off."  
  
Sören saw that it was already four AM. Anthony usually woke up at five, sometimes six but no later than. The best Anthony could hope for now was being able to sleep in an hour and waking up at seven or eight. Sören put on water for tea and got out the lavender chamomile herbal tea, while Anthony sat on the couch. As the water boiled, Sören turned on the TV and looked at the program guide. There was a block of ancient _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ reruns on one of the available channels, so Sören clicked on it with the remote and pulled Anthony towards him, gently rocking him as the familiar voice of Patrick Stewart intoned: "Space. The final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship _Enterprise_..."  
  
When the music came on, Sören began singing "dun-dun-dun-dun, dun-dun-dun, da-na-na-na na, na, na, der-ner-ner-ner..." and Anthony shook his head, chuckling.  
  
The current episode was "The Inner Light", and Sören perked up a little at the focus on Picard. "There's my boyfriend," Sören said before he could stop himself.  
  
Anthony's eyebrows shot up and he blinked, posture stiffening. Sören realized then how that came off - he was so tired that he'd lost his brain-to-mouth filter. But now was a good time to test the waters with something that occasionally nagged at Sören... he was committed to Anthony, and he knew Anthony was committed to him, but he wondered if strict monogamy was really the way to go or not, especially with the kind of hours Sören worked. Sören kept the tone lighthearted as he put his feelers out. "Oh, well I mean, we could share him," Sören teased, gently elbowing Anthony. "We could have a threesome with Jean-Luc..."  
  
"_Sören._" Anthony narrowed his eyes, and between the tone and the expression on his face, the tension in his body, Sören knew he'd crossed a line.  
  
"Sorry," Sören said, his face burning. "It was a joke." It hadn't _entirely_ been a joke, and Sören felt a small pang of disappointment that it seemed to be something Anthony wouldn't consider even in jest. But Sören loved Anthony, and he wasn't going to press the issue. He wrapped his arms around Anthony, rocking him again, and after a moment Anthony's tension relaxed and he kissed Sören's cheek.  
  
The episode was about Picard getting knocked out by an alien probe, and living four decades in the life of one of its citizens, Kamin, who started a family and learned to play the flute. Kamin spent a lot of time outdoors with a Dobsonian telescope and after awhile he observed increased radiation from the sun was causing a drought. The government knew the sun was about to cause extinction but they didn't have the technology to evacuate everyone and they didn't want to cause a mass panic. While Picard was passed out, the crew determined the probe had come from a system whose sun went nova a thousand years ago. Meanwhile, as Picard was still under the probe's influence, Kamin went out to watch the launch of a rocket and his wife and close friend told him the planet's leaders placed memories of their society into a probe and sent it into space, hoping it would find someone who would learn about their species and tell others. Then Picard woke up to find out only twenty-five minutes had passed, and the probe was brought inside and the crew found a box, which Riker gave to Picard, who found a flute upon opening it up. Picard began to play, having learned it through living Kamin's life.  
  
Sören teared up when Kamin's wife and close friend explained the probe to Picard, and the tears spilled during the scene of Picard playing the flute. Anthony was obviously choked up as well. Sören wasn't just moved by the story, but he thought of the dreams he and Anthony shared, that felt so _real_, about themselves in other bodies, as brother-lovers. And he knew without being told that Anthony was thinking about it too.  
  
When the show was over they sat there in stunned silence for a few minutes, and then Anthony turned to Sören. "Do you think..." Anthony swallowed hard. "Any of... you know."  
  
"The dreams," Sören prompted.  
  
Anthony nodded. "Any of that is real. Not just a dream, but... a memory, of something that _actually happened_, a long time ago. A world that doesn't exist anymore."  
  
"Well... we haven't found a probe," Sören said. He couldn't resist making the obvious joke, desperately needing levity. "Just probing each other's anuses."  
  
Anthony rolled his eyes, facepalmed, and chuckled. Then he gave Sören a serious, intense look. "Of course there's not a probe. And it doesn't feel like it happened to someone else and they wanted us to preserve their memories. It feels like it happened to us. I know that sounds daft, but..."  
  
"I don't know," Sören said. "I try not to speculate too much because it raises more questions than answers. Questions I'm uncomfortable with because, like..." Sören made a vague hand gesture. "I don't do gods. I don't do religion."  
  
"Well, neither do I," Anthony said. "But this feels like something very different from any explanation that religion could give. It just... haunts me, you know?"  
  
"I know," Sören said, nodding. He had chills down his spine, thinking about what it could possibly be.  
  
"It would be unsettling enough on its own for me to keep having these dreams but the fact that you've had _the same dreams_, too. Like we _shared_ something."  
  
"I don't know what to tell you," Sören said, shaking his head. He stroked Anthony's cheek. "But if we're experiencing memories of something that we lived through together... we found our way back to each other. That connection is real, and _that_ is my religion. The way I feel about you. Our love is that powerful." Sören took Anthony's hand and kissed it.  
  
Anthony threw his arms around Sören and kissed him deeply. Before they could get too hot and heavy, Sören pulled back - reluctantly - and pointed at the time. "You need a nap," Sören said.  
  
Anthony grumbled, but he followed Sören to bed. Sören tucked him in, got on the other side of him, and pulled Anthony into his arms, holding him and petting him until Anthony fell asleep. Then Sören just watched Anthony sleep, peaceful and lovely in that peace, almost innocent, and wondered if Anthony would dream about them again. He felt strangely protective of Anthony, loving him so fiercely it almost _hurt_, determined not to lose him again this time, whatever had happened to push them into the here and now. He held Anthony, watching him sleep, noticing every little detail and burning it into his mind's eye, until the alarm woke Anthony up.  
  
Sören saw Anthony off to work, and then his own rest claimed him, deep, dark, and dreamless.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören set the alarm to wake up at three in the afternoon. He and Anthony had reservations at the upmarket fusion place in Bromley where they'd had their first date in November 2011, to celebrate Valentine's Day together, but Sören was still exhausted from the long surgery yesterday, his exhaustion amplified by not being able to get rest right away when he came home, not that he could fault Anthony for being wound up during a court battle.  
  
Sören also worried about Anthony, who'd gotten all of an hour of sleep. He didn't want Anthony to try to pretend he was fine for the sake of them going out for Valentine's Day - the point of celebrating was to _enjoy_ an evening, not to be wishing they were anywhere but a crowded restaurant, surrounded by people.  
  
So after Sören had woken up a little with some coffee, and had a shower and brushed his teeth, he sent Anthony a text message. _How's it going?_  
  
Sören didn't expect a reply right away, not sure when Anthony would be getting a break, but then five minutes later Anthony's text came back: _shoot me_  
  
Sören couldn't help laughing, but he also genuinely felt bad. _Awww elskan._  
  
_It'll be over soon enough, I guess. I'll be home by six._  
  
Sören took a deep breath. His fingers flew over the keypad on his phone as he fired off: _Don't hate me for suggesting this, but let's not go out tonight. Let's get takeaway and stay home._  
  
A few minutes passed, and Sören felt a flurry of panic, worrying that his suggestion had offended Anthony, but then Anthony replied with _Great minds. I was going to ask you the same thing lol._  
  
_Less travel time, and more time for_ Sören used an eggplant emoji.  
  
A minute later Anthony sent back _LOL I love you so much._  
  
Sören sent him a heart emoji, and then _So what would you like to eat?_  
  
_You,_ came Anthony's reply.  
  
Sören's cock stirred, as his mind played delicious fantasies of them taking turns sucking each other's cocks, holding each other as they sixty-nined, rimming each other. _God, I want him,_ Sören thought to himself, wishing Anthony were here right now, craving the taste of him, craving the sweet moans and sighs and the look of bliss on Anthony's face when Sören pleasured him. Sören adjusted himself and typed back _Besides that._  
  
_I don't know. I'm easy._ There was a winking emoji.  
  
Sören giggled. _OK slut. Chinese sound good?_  
  
_Yes, that's perfect. I have to get back to court now._  
  
Sören sighed, missing him. He looked at the clock and decided he would call for Chinese delivery around quarter after five, to time the delivery for the food to arrive around the same time Anthony did.  
  
As exhausted as Sören was, he wanted to do something more. Something special, something to show Anthony he was appreciated and loved.  
  
Sören raided the cupboards, and smiled when he found a lemon cake mix, and an unopened jar of buttercream frosting that was still before the "use by" date. He then opened the freezer to see if there was still a bag of frozen strawberries.  
  
After washing his hands he set to work making a lemon cake, with the bag of frozen strawberries defrosting to go on top of the cake. When the cake went in the oven, Sören did a once-over of the flat, tidying up here and there, and he lingered in the bedroom, thinking of how to set the mood.  
  
Candlelight was always romantic, but with the way they were both stressed out and exhausted, they needed something more. A sense of safety, of peace.  
  
Sören worked on assembling a blanket fort around their bed, and a nest on their bed inside the fort that they could crawl into. He smiled when it was finished, just in time for the timer to go off and the cake to come out of the oven.  
  
He frosted the cake and put on a layer of strawberries, putting the remaining half of the bag back in the freezer. He licked the frosting on the spoon before he did dishes, feeling a flutter of anticipation, wishing six o'clock would get here already.  
  
After Sören called the Chinese place for delivery, it was the hardest part of the wait. Sören tried to zone out to the TV but it had the opposite effect of making him feel more wound up, and he found himself thinking of his conversation with Anthony very late last night, about the dreams they both had, wondering if it was more than just dreams. Sören reached for his tablet and began to draw them as they were in his dreams, himself with black hair to his knees, Anthony with silver-gold hair. Cuddling in a nest of blankets and pillows in a garden space... with a bird perched on Anthony's finger, another on his head, two more birds on a pillow, more birds in a nest near their nest. He got so caught up in sketching that he jumped when he heard his cell phone ring, the delivery driver announcing he was here.  
  
Sören took a deep breath, reflexively brushed himself off - as if he were trailing magic from one world into another - and went outside to meet the driver, paying him, giving a generous tip, and he took the bag upstairs. He dished out the food - egg rolls, pork fried rice, beef with broccoli - and then he brought it to their nest in the bedroom. He carved two pieces of cake and brought it in, then he found the jar of coconut oil, put some in a bowl, added a few drops of vanilla extract, and microwaved it, smiling as the scent of vanilla filled the air. After he brought in the bowl of vanilla-flavored oil, he took off his shirt, lit a few candles and waited on the bed, hungry, and not just for food.  
  
Sören felt restless as he waited, wishing he had brought in the tablet to work some more on the picture of them. At last he heard the keys in the door and Anthony called out, "Sören?"  
  
"Down here," Sören called back.  
  
Anthony came in with a bouquet of roses, a bottle of champagne, and a box of chocolates. He set them down on the dresser, held up his index finger and dashed out, came back with two champagne glasses that he set down, and finally went to Sören's waiting arms, laughing and chuckling as Sören squeezed him. Anthony rocked him, petting Sören's curls, and he kissed the top of Sören's head.  
  
"I missed you," Anthony husked.  
  
Sören looked up at him. Anthony looked tired, and there was sadness in his eyes. "Dare I ask?"  
  
"I think I can get this guy to walk," Anthony said, nodding. "It's just..." He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "It's a war. And it's not over yet. I have court again on Monday."  
  
Sören patted him. "Here, come eat, _elskan._"  
  
"Let me get my robes off first."  
  
Anthony undressed in front of Sören, with Sören ogling him, admiring his body. Anthony stripped down to boxer-briefs, threw on a grey T-shirt, popped the champagne and poured it, passed the bottle and the glasses to Sören, who gingerly sat them down on the bedtable, and Anthony made his way through the blanket fort, crawling in next to Sören in the nest. Sören shoved a forkful of beef with broccoli in Anthony's mouth.  
  
They took turns feeding each other forkfuls of food, kissing between every few bites, nuzzling, petting. Sören and Anthony ate bites of egg roll from each other's hands and fingers, licking each other's palms, sucking each other's fingers, creating an air of playful sensuality. When it came time for the cake Sören noticed they were both hard, and Sören kissed Anthony with his mouth full of cake, both of them moaning into the kiss.  
  
"You are so sweet, baking me a cake," Anthony said.  
  
"I wanted to do something nice for you," Sören said, petting his hair.  
  
"You always do nice things for me." Anthony kissed Sören's forehead, and they rubbed noses before Anthony stole another kiss. "You've been running yourself ragged, too -"  
  
Sören waved his hand dismissively. "It makes me happy to make you happy, _elskan._"  
  
"Well, it makes me happy to make you happy, too." Anthony kissed him again. "Honestly, even though it's sad that we're both too exhausted to go anywhere, this is much nicer than going out."  
  
"I agree," Sören said, nodding. "We can be disgusting here, not so much in public." He fed Anthony a forkful of cake and then kissed him, sharing the cake between them as their tongues played, teased.  
  
"Mmhmm. I can't do things like this at a restaurant." Anthony let a forkful of cake drop onto Sören's bare chest and then he ate it off Sören's body, licking Sören's skin clean, tongue "accidentally" brushing a nipple, making Sören gasp and shiver. "Or this." Anthony spilled some champagne from his glass over Sören's nipple and lapped it before suckling the nipple into his mouth. Sören bucked, moaning, cock throbbing.  
  
Anthony began to kiss and lick his way up Sören's neck, and sucked on Sören's lower lip before claiming his mouth again, hungry and fierce. Sören moaned, pressing against Anthony so their hard cocks were rubbing together through their briefs. Anthony groaned, breathing a soft sigh before he kissed along Sören's jaw, nuzzling and licking Sören's beard as Sören giggled happily, rubbing Anthony's head, massaging his scalp.  
  
"We could make this a yearly tradition," Sören said, feeding him another forkful of cake before they got too carried away.  
  
"We could." Anthony kissed him again. "We should."  
  
"Mhm." Sören accepted a bite of cake from Anthony, and kissed him with it, strawberries melting in their mouths. "Even when we're old."  
  
"Yes." Their eyes met. "I want you to grow old with me, Sören."  
  
Sören's heart soared, and his eyes misted. He stroked Anthony's face and kissed him, more gently. "I want us to grow old together, too. Of course..." Sören chuckled. "We'll be defying our ages, still shagging each other senseless when we're old men."  
  
"Dirty old men." Anthony grinned.  
  
They finished the cake, had another glass of champagne, and put their dishes off to the side. Sören pulled Anthony close and for a few minutes they just held each other, rocking together.  
  
"This is nice," Anthony said.  
  
"I love holding you, _elskan._" Sören smiled, then pouted. "I missed having you next to me while I got some sleep."  
  
"Oh, sweetheart." They nuzzled, and kissed. "I missed you all day at court. I could not wait to get home to you."  
  
"You're here now." Sören kissed the tip of Anthony's nose. "And now I'm going to take care of you."  
  
Anthony stroked Sören's face, his curls, ran his thumb along Sören's beard, traced Sören's lower lip, looking into his eyes. "I want to take care of you, too."  
  
"Well..." Sören sat up, and began to pull down his boxer-briefs, freeing his hard cock. "Let's get naked."  
  
Anthony laughed and peeled off his T-shirt, and Sören ran his hands over Anthony's chest as Anthony took off his underwear. When Anthony's own cock was out, Sören took them both into his fist, stroking slowly, kissing Anthony again and again, with Anthony looking up at him with such love in his eyes that it took Sören's breath away, made him ache.  
  
_Yes, I want to marry this man._  
  
Sören reached for the bowl of melted coconut oil. "Turn around and let me rub your back, _elskan_." Sören oiled his hands and rubbed them together.  
  
Anthony rolled onto his stomach and groaned deeply as Sören began to knead his shoulders, working out the knots. Every now and again Sören kissed the back of Anthony's neck or his shoulder, making Anthony moan and buck up against Sören, whose hard cock rubbed in the crack of Anthony's ass. Sören's hands slid and pressed firmly into Anthony's back, rubbing, kneading, and then his touch was lighter, caressing, kissing here, licking there. He worked his way down, feeling how much tension Anthony had been carrying, smiling as it melted away underneath his hands. When Sören got to Anthony's lower back, which was as tense and knotty as Anthony's shoulders and upper back, Sören started to kiss and lick down Anthony's spine, enjoying the taste of the vanilla-flavored oil combined with the natural musk of Anthony's skin, enjoying Anthony's moans and shivers even more. Sören's hands brushed up Anthony's back, stroking in low, lazy circles, and Sören kissed back up Anthony's spine, then back down as his fingers and palms played over him, sensually, until he was caressing the firm globes of Anthony's ass in circles.  
  
Sören oiled his hands again and kneaded Anthony's ass, and then his thighs and calves, caressing with slow circles before pressing harder and kneading some more. Sören let his hard cock rub against the back of one of Anthony's thighs and then against his leg, so Anthony could feel how much Sören wanted him, and Sören bit his lower lip, cock throbbing, as Anthony groaned in response, fisting the sheets.  
  
Anthony rolled onto his back and Sören poured oil over his chest, and worked it in, hands rubbing up and down, firm and deep, then light, teasing. Sören kneaded his shoulders from the front, and worked the tension out of one bicep and tricep and forearm, then the other, before rubbing Anthony's chest again, leaning down to kiss and lick a nipple as his hands played over Anthony's stomach. Anthony moaned, arching to him, and Sören rubbed his cock against Anthony's thigh as he turned to lap and suckle the other nipple, fingers and palms continuing to stroke Anthony's stomach in circles and swirls. Sören went back and forth between Anthony's nipples, licking, sucking, nibbling, tugging them with his teeth, and Sören was moaning now too as Anthony's hands slid over Sören's back, walked up his spine, cupped and rubbed his ass.  
  
Sören kissed and licked Anthony's stomach, hands rubbing Anthony's thighs and knees. Anthony pulled Sören's curls, moaning, urging him lower, to his dripping cock, which looked delicious. But Sören wasn't giving in just yet, kissing and licking and nibbling one thigh as his fingers played over the other, then switching, reveling in the sound of Anthony's moans and the way his breath hitched, panting, gasping.  
  
Sören paused over Anthony's cock, their eyes locked, and Sören took a few licks at the slit, slow, teasing.  
  
"Oh, Sören." Anthony moaned and his eyes fluttered, completely lost in pleasure.  
  
Sören still wasn't quite ready to give in. He rose up, poured more oil over Anthony's chest and stomach, letting it drip down him, and his hands worked over and over him in circles, smiling as Anthony moaned with combined bliss and frustration, pleading with his eyes when they weren't rolling, half-closed as he moaned and sighed.  
  
"You are _such_ a fucking tease," Anthony rasped.  
  
"Hmmm? What's that?" Sören leaned down and licked from Anthony's nipple in a diagonal path down his chest and stomach, to his navel, giggling as Anthony growled.  
  
Sören nibbled Anthony's navel and kissed down the seam of his crotch, kissing and licking all over one thigh, then the other, Anthony's moans louder and louder. At last Sören began licking Anthony's cock again, long, deliberate, slow licks, grinding against Anthony's leg harder as Anthony panted and gasped. When Sören took Anthony's cock in his mouth, slowly, inch by inch, Anthony groaned when it was all the way in Sören's mouth, and the heat in those green eyes set Sören's cock throbbing, fighting off the urge to just take him.  
  
Sören sucked slowly, Anthony's fingers in his hair, then pulling on his curls, Anthony moaning, panting. When Sören sucked harder, faster, bobbing his head, Anthony's cries rose and Sören's cock twinged, wanting him. Sören started rubbing his tongue as he sucked, reaching down to stroke himself as Anthony swore and grabbed his curls. Sören sucked hungrily, watching Anthony undone more and more until Anthony was trembling, making shuddery little gasps, looking almost in pain from his need. Then Sören took Anthony's cock out and licked it, teasing him, smiling wickedly as Anthony growled and swore with frustration. Sören relented just a little, sucking on the head of Anthony's cock, swirling his tongue as he sucked, kissing it, hand sliding up and down the shaft. He teased Anthony like that until Anthony was on that edge again, rocking his hips, gasping, "Sören. Sören. Oh god. Sören, dammit, please..."  
  
"Mmmmmm." Sören pulled the head of Anthony's cock out of his mouth and his tongue lashed the slit.  
  
"You. Fucking. Tease." Anthony grit his teeth, his eyes wild with need.  
  
Sören smiled and licked more slowly, licking and licking before putting the cock back in his mouth and going to work, sucking like his life depended on it. Anthony grabbed Sören's head and gently thrust into his mouth, and Sören reached to cup and rub his balls, feeling them tighten, tasting more precum, knowing Anthony was about to explode. "Mmmmmmm," Sören hummed, encouraging him. "Mmmmhmmmmm. Mmmmmm..."  
  
There was a moment that felt like an eternity, the tension rising and coiling in Anthony again, and then he shattered, throwing his head back and crying out, then gasping, shuddery sighs as he spent into Sören's mouth. Sören swallowed it greedily, savoring the salty sweetness of him, and licked Anthony clean, smiling as his tongue gave Anthony aftershocks.  
  
Then he came up to kiss Anthony, idly stroking himself. After the kiss Anthony lay there dazed for a few minutes, completely lost in bliss, till he felt Sören touching himself and then Anthony's hand was on Sören's hand, guiding his strokes. "I can help with that, you know," Anthony whispered, nuzzling Sören's beard before kissing his neck.  
  
"Can you now."  
  
"I did tell you that I want to take care of you." Anthony kissed Sören, tongue insistent, and Sören groaned into the kiss, cock pulsing.  
  
Anthony rolled Sören onto his stomach and Sören sighed with contentment as he felt oil pour onto his back. Then Anthony's hands were on him, his touch light at first, caressing with slow, languid strokes up and down his back, before pressing harder, kneading. Sören sighed, flexing his fingers and toes as the tension drained out of him, Anthony finding the knots and rubbing them away. Sören closed his eyes with bliss and in his mind's eye, the vision played of himself in the body of the beautiful man with knee-length black hair, laying on his stomach just like this, as his blond brother-lover knelt atop him the way Anthony was kneeling on him now, cock rubbing in the crack of his ass, and he could see light, feeling like the blond brother-lover was doing some kind of magic, almost as if his hands had distilled the light of the Sun and it was resparking the flame within him, guttering low.  
  
"There," Anthony husked as his hands continued kneading Sören's back, soothing, arousing. "Does my brother like that?"  
  
"Oh god." Sören gave a wordless groan and flexed his fingers and toes again, making a little swimming motion involuntarily. Anthony chuckled, grinding Sören's ass some more before giving it a playful swat.  
  
"I remember when I used to do this for you," Anthony whispered, as if he knew exactly what Sören was seeing. He leaned in and his fingers traced the tattoos on Sören's back, first the firebird, then the waterbird, and then his tongue traced the lines of ink, making Sören groan. Kisses here and there, passionate and yet also almost reverent. Anthony nibbled, then soothed with his tongue. "I love you, my spirit of fire."  
  
"I love you, _litli bróðir minn._"  
  
Anthony began kissing Sören's neck then, kissing and licking his nape, the sweet spot where the neck and shoulder met. Anthony kissed and licked down Sören's spine as he massaged Sören's ass, making Sören moan and grind himself against the mattress, wanting Anthony so badly it almost hurt. Anthony slid slower as his kisses approached Sören's lower back, and then he nuzzled and kissed the curve of Sören's butt, rubbing, caressing. He kissed, licked and nibbled the backs of Sören's thighs, hands stroking and stroking, and then his tongue was in the crack of Sören's ass. Sören cried out as he felt Anthony's tongue plunge inside, and moaned as Anthony's tongue licked slowly, moaning louder as he licked faster.  
  
"I told you I wanted to eat you," Anthony rasped before his tongue dipped inside again, lashing fast and furious, devouring. Sören screamed and howled, hips rocking back, fucking himself on Anthony's tongue, who groaned and grabbed Sören's hips, tongue lashing even harder, like he was starving for it. Sören fisted the pillows, sobbed, writhed, as Anthony's tongue pleasured the sweet spot inside him and took the pleasure higher and higher, all of the tension that had drained out of him building in his balls, ready to explode.  
  
Anthony kept him on that edge, growling as his tongue fucked and teased. Sören heard himself whimpering, keening, felt himself biting his hand, biting the pillow, desperate for release yet never wanting Anthony to stop the wicked magic of his tongue. At last Anthony relented, pulling back, and he resumed kissing the back of Sören's thighs as his hands rubbed and kneaded Sören's calves, unexpectedly sore from how much standing he did every day. Anthony groaned as he felt the tension in Sören's legs. "God damn," he said.  
  
"God damn is right." Sören chuckled. Then Sören glared over his shoulder. "Also, you're the fucking tease now."  
  
Anthony grinned. "You deserve it."  
  
"Arse."  
  
Anthony kissed Sören's butt cheek, making Sören giggle, and Anthony laughed too before slapping it, then rubbing it slowly, sensually, making Sören moan. "I love you."  
  
"I love you. Arse."  
  
"Roll over and I'll show you just how much of an arse I can be."  
  
Sören rolled onto his back and braced himself. He sighed as Anthony poured the last of the oil over his chest and stomach, and sighed again as Anthony began to work the oil over Sören's torso and arms. Sören moaned as Anthony rubbed his shoulders, then kneaded the tension out of one of Sören's arms, then the other. "God, you're tense there too," Anthony said, giving Sören a sympathetic look.  
  
Sören nodded. "Makes sense, with how much surgery I perform."  
  
Anthony rubbed Sören's chest, alternating between hard and firm, and soft and teasing, making Sören break out into gooseflesh, his nipples hardening. Anthony leaned down to lick a nipple, Sören arching to him, grabbing Anthony's shoulders and moaning. When Anthony suckled, Sören almost came right then, his cock jolting, letting out a spurt of precum. Anthony reached down for Sören's cock and slowly played with it, knowingly, before he turned his attention to the other nipple, lapping, sucking hard. He went back and forth, back and forth, fingers and thumb playing with one as his mouth worshiped the other, all the while stroking Sören's cock, getting Sören more and more worked up.  
  
Sören made a whine of protest when Anthony turned his focus elsewhere, rubbing Sören's stomach. But then it felt too good for Sören to protest much, moaning, panting as Anthony rubbed Sören's stomach and kissed it. "You are so beautiful." Anthony nuzzled Sören's stomach, making a line to his hip bone, kissing there too, smiling at how sensitive Sören was, the little shudder and gasp he made. "Mmmmm." Anthony's teeth nipped there, before he licked and kissed it again.  
  
Anthony rubbed the front of Sören's thighs, and rubbed his calves some more, kissing and licking the seam of Sören's crotch, nuzzling the thatch of black curls framing his cock but not going there with Sören's cock, not yet. Finally Sören's cock was dripping a steady stream of precum and Anthony sighed. "That looks too delicious to go to waste." He leaned in and started licking the head of Sören's cock, making Sören cry out.  
  
He licked and licked and licked Sören's cock, like he was licking an ice cream cone, driving Sören mad. Sören heard himself make inhuman noises, grabbing Anthony's head, trying to beg for Anthony to suck him and he couldn't even make words. When Anthony did, at last, take Sören into his mouth, Sören made a deep, shivery gasp, eyes rolling back.  
  
"Anthony..."  
  
"Mmmmm." Anthony sucked him slowly, slowly, their eyes locked. After a minute he took Sören's cock out of his mouth and started licking it again.  
  
"Dammit..."  
  
"I did warn you." Anthony gave him a smug, _"I own you"_ smile before licking Sören's cock some more, from head to shaft and back up, laving the head as Sören whined, desperately needing.  
  
The sweet, slow torment of Anthony's tongue kept Sören on that edge until he was almost sobbing. When Anthony took Sören's cock back in his mouth and began to suck in earnest, Sören again almost sobbed, this time with relief. And exquisite pleasure. Anthony's mouth was so good, and Anthony knew how well he was pleasing Sören, mischief in his eyes as he watched Sören fall apart.  
  
It wasn't long before Sören was thrusting into Anthony's mouth, panting, whimpering, thrashing back and forth, and Anthony sucked harder, faster. He began to work slick fingers in and out of Sören's passage, and the delicious friction around his cock and inside him built the pleasure higher and higher until Sören flew off the edge, soaring, burning, screaming as he flooded Anthony's mouth.  
  
Anthony swallowed, licked him clean, and came up to kiss him. Sören moaned at the taste of himself on Anthony's mouth and moaned again as he felt Anthony's hard cock grinding against his thigh. Sören hardened up again, cock throbbing as Anthony kissed and nibbled his neck. "I am so fucking horny for you," Anthony rasped, before licking Sören's neck.  
  
Sören grinned. "Hi So Fucking Horny For You, I'm -"  
  
Anthony pinched Sören's nipple, hard, and Sören cried out before he could finish the sentence. Now it was Anthony's turn to grin. He lowered his head and brushed the nipple with his tongue, a few slow strokes before lapping it, making Sören clutch his head and arch to him, moaning. "Oh god." Sören bit his lower lip and whined. "Anthony..."  
  
Anthony tugged the nipple ring with his teeth and lapped Sören's nipple some more, suckling. He turned his head to lick and suck the other, his hand straying to play with Sören's cock. Then he kissed Sören's mouth roughly, and reached over to their bedtable for the lube. He scooted up to straddle Sören's hips and leaned over him to continue kissing him as he poured lube over Sören's cock. Sören stroked himself, working in the lube, and their eyes met between kisses - the look of lust on Anthony's face made Sören grab him and kiss him harder, then he reached for his cock and began to guide the tip to Anthony's passage.  
  
Anthony rode him, and the sight of Anthony bouncing on his cock, the fluid grace of his lithe, trim body and the passion on his face threatened to undo Sören right away. Sören grabbed Anthony's hips, thrusting into him, grunting and growling, losing himself in the sweetness of Anthony wrapped around him, and the delicious moans Anthony made as the ring in the head of Sören's cock teased him.  
  
"You are so fucking hot, _elskan,_" Sören ground out, running his hands over Anthony's chest, stomach, hips and thighs, and back up. "You are a work of art."  
  
"So are you." Anthony leaned down and kissed Sören again, and Sören wrapped his arms around him, caught up in the fever of passion, kissing him hard and hungry before thrusting into him even harder, faster.  
  
Anthony rose up again and rode Sören for all he was worth, and Sören reached to stroke Anthony's cock in time with their thrusts. When Anthony was ready to shoot, gasping, that needy look in his eye, Sören aimed Anthony's cock and moaned as Anthony shot all over him, opening his mouth to get some of the sweet cream on his tongue, moaning as he got a facial, which set him off too, coming and coming. Anthony sank down onto Sören's chest and Sören held him tight as they kissed, and Sören giggled as Anthony licked the cum off his face, moaned as Anthony kissed him with it on his tongue.  
  
"I love you," Anthony whispered, and smiled as Sören pulled him close, kissed his brow, smoothed his hair and began rocking him.  
  
They lay there for a few minutes just cuddling, and Sören slipped out of him. They rolled onto their sides, facing each other, and rubbed noses, kissing sweetly then more passionately and insistently, until they were both hard again and rubbing their cocks together, running their hands over each other.  
  
"Your turn," Anthony said, kissing Sören's neck and shoulder.  
  
"How do you want it, _elskan_?"  
  
"I want to watch you ride me." Anthony nipped Sören's lower lip.  
  
Sören didn't need his arm twisted. After Sören lubed up Anthony's cock he straddled him and pushed down around him, sighing when Anthony was buried in him to the hilt. Sören rode slowly at first, teasing both of them, then after a few minutes Anthony slapped his ass, rocking into him, and Sören gave a cheeky grin as he rode harder, faster. Soon enough Sören was bucking madly, riding him like a wild bull, white-knuckled as he held onto Anthony for dear life, the delicious rubbing inside him driving him out of his mind with pleasure. When Anthony began to play with Sören's nipple rings Sören heard himself making inhuman noises, taking charge of the rhythm, bouncing so feverishly he started to drip sweat. Anthony's groans and the slap of their flesh drove Sören mad with lust, and he couldn't help but reach down and caress his lover's body, reveling in the power of his touch, the way Anthony moaned and sighed at the feel of Sören's hands. At last Anthony leaned up and pulled Sören towards him, into a deep, hungry, fierce kiss, stroking his cock furiously, and Sören lost control, coming with a cry. A few seconds later Anthony growled into the kiss, trembling, and Sören felt Anthony shooting inside him. The kiss pulled apart and they looked into each other's eyes, and Anthony stroked Sören's face, giving a shuddery sigh before he grabbed Sören and kissed him again, harder, both of them moaning as the orgasm throbbed on.  
  
Sören collapsed onto Anthony's chest, panting, and then he erupted into a gigglefit, euphoria bubbling through him. Anthony gave him that radiant, dazzling smile that took Sören's breath away, and kissed him again, soft and sweet. "You're so adorable," Anthony said, tousling his curls.  
  
"So are you." Sören kissed the tip of his nose.  
  
Anthony gave him a mock stern look, and then he smiled again and his arms tightened around Sören, rocking him.  
  
They snuggled some more, and then they pet each other, making eye contact, and Sören found himself getting aroused yet again. Anthony laughed when he felt Sören's hard cock. "You are insatiable," Anthony said, stroking Sören's cock.  
  
"You make me insatiable." Sören nibbled his shoulder. "I can't help wanting you, _elskan_."  
  
"Mmmm, it's like you're in heat." Then Anthony patted Sören's ass and said, "If you're going to act like you're in heat, you're going to get fucked like a bitch in heat. Get down on all fours for me."  
  
Sören moaned and did as he was told, hole twitching, wanting to be filled again. As Anthony got on his knees behind him, Sören playfully wiggled his ass, and groaned when Anthony slapped his ass, before rubbing it.  
  
Sören cried out when Anthony was all the way inside him. He cried out again when Anthony began to thrust, hard and fast, grabbing his hair. Sören moaned as Anthony slapped his ass again, and rocked back at him, matching his rhythm.  
  
"Oh god, yes," Sören panted. "Take it, take me, fucking take it like you own it..."  
  
"I do own it." Anthony slapped Sören's ass again. "You were made for me... brother."  
  
Sören throbbed, moaning, rocking against him even harder. "_Bróðir minn... bróðir minn..._"  
  
Anthony grabbed Sören's hips and fucked harder, slamming into him, his balls slapping against Sören's from behind. Sören screamed and sobbed, fisting the pillows, Anthony's cock hitting that sweet spot inside him just right, making him needy, urgent to come, and yet never wanting to stop, wanting to feel that delicious rubbing forever...  
  
...that feeling of being taken, fucked, _claimed._ Being _his._ Sören shuddered. He didn't know why they had the dreams they had, what was going on, but it just felt _right_ that they were together again, like there was nothing that could keep them apart from each other. "_Bróðir minn,_" Sören moaned, like a mantra, like a prayer, like a spell, weaving their bond unbreakable. "_Bróðir minn. Bróðir minn. Bróðir minn!_"  
  
"Oh, Sören." Sören could feel Anthony tremble against him, and Anthony grabbed his hips so tight it almost hurt. "Sören. My brother. I need you."  
  
"I need you," Sören husked, choking up. "I need you. I need this."  
  
Anthony pounded him and Sören let out a wail, biting the pillows as the pleasure rose to new heights, the fever in him searing. Soon Sören was trembling too, quivering, the fuck so good it almost hurt, his body needing release but continuing to hold out, wanting to get fucked and fucked and fucked. Sören heard Anthony get more vocal and knew he was getting close to losing it, and finally Anthony couldn't hold back anymore, grabbing Sören's curls as he growled, "Sören. Come for me." Then he slapped Sören's ass and Sören came, howling, gratified by the cry Anthony gave as he spent into him before falling on top of Sören's back, kissing the back of Sören's neck as he shuddered against him, spending.  
  
That orgasm was powerful enough that Sören felt himself dozing off, and at some point he became aware of Anthony slipping out of him and rolling him so Sören could curl up against his chest, in his arms. Sören smiled and murmured incoherently before he fell asleep again.  
  
Then he woke some time later to a cool emptiness in the bed. He heard the sink running in the kitchen and he opened his eyes to see the candles were out and the dishes on the bedtable had been cleared off. Sören closed his eyes again and was just starting to drift back to sleep when he felt Anthony crawl in next to him, Anthony's arms around him again, and Anthony gave him a little kiss. Sören smiled at the minty taste of his toothpaste.  
  
"You did dishes?" Sören mumbled.  
  
"Yeah. And the rest of the champagne is in the fridge." Anthony rubbed Sören's head. "I'm sorry for waking you up -"  
  
"No, it's OK." Sören blinked his eyes open and smiled at the emerald eyes looking into his. "I just know you didn't get a lot of sleep last night..."  
  
"Well, I got a couple hours after our big finish, then I woke up and had to go to the bathroom so I figured while I was up..." Anthony patted him. "I am bloody exhausted, though. I think I'm going to call out of work tomorrow, since I don't have court again until Monday."  
  
"Wow, really?" Anthony _never_ did that. "That'll be nice. I don't go in till Friday evening, so we'll get almost a full day together."  
  
"Mmmm." Anthony kissed Sören's brow and pet his curls. "Might make that a yearly tradition, too. Take the day after Valentine's off so that way we can be up late shagging."  
  
Sören gigglesnorted. "I love you, you know."  
  
"I know." Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "I love you too." Anthony squeezed him and rocked him a little. "Also, Sören?"  
  
"Hm?"  
  
"Your tablet was on the coffee table and I hope you don't mind, but my curiosity got the better of me and I looked at what you were working on." Their eyes met. "It's beautiful."  
  
"Oh." Sören was strangely touched by that, that Anthony was interested in his art so much. "_Takk._ You really think so?"  
  
"I do." Anthony sighed. "I remember back then I... had a bird menagerie. Sometimes I think it would be nice to have a bird, or two, but with the kind of hours we work..."  
  
"Yeah." Sören gave a deep, regretful sigh, aching for the sacrifices they had both made, all the little things they were missing out on. "A couple birds would be nice."  
  
"A couple birds, a couple cats, maybe a dog. And some fish. But." Anthony frowned. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be a downer."  
  
"No, it's OK, _elskan._" Sören patted him.  
  
He tried to get back to sleep after that but then he felt a disturbance, and he opened his eyes to see Anthony lying awake, still frowning. "You're still thinking about stuff we can't have, huh?" Sören asked.  
  
Anthony just nodded.  
  
"Here." Sören knew he needed a distraction. Sören got out of bed and made his way to the living room. He came back with his tablet and flipped on the light. He got back in bed with Anthony and held the tablet between them so they could both look at it. They revisited the sketch Sören would be turning into a painting, of them as their dream-selves in a blanket and pillow nest in a garden, accompanied by birds.  
  
Then Sören showed Anthony some of the finished paintings he hadn't shown off yet - the two of them naked, making love, looking at each other with tenderness and worship. Anthony's breath hitched and his eyes widened. He turned beetroot but then he grinned, eyes gleaming wickedly.  
  
"Wow. I never thought I'd be the subject of..." Anthony chuckled. "Wow."  
  
"What we have is beautiful," Sören said, stroking his face, "and I wanted to pay tribute."  
  
"You certainly did." Anthony took Sören's hand and kissed it. "I am deeply, deeply honored." Then he glanced at the painting where Sören was inside him, and snorted. "And I mean deeply."  
  
Sören giggled, his face on fire now too.  
  
Anthony leaned back, reclining against the pile of pillows, and he stroked his chin for a moment, then he gave Sören a pointed look. "Sören. My mum has connections in the art world. You _really_ ought to talk to her about getting you a show at a gallery somewhere. Really. Show her some of your work." Then Anthony facepalmed, shaking with silent laughter. "Not these, obviously."  
  
"Oh god." Sören wheezed, doubling over. "NO, OBVIOUSLY NOT THOSE."  
  
"But..." Anthony thumbed through Sören's gallery. "Maybe this weekend, we can go to get prints of everything and then on Sunday we can take them to Mum and..."  
  
Sören took a deep breath, feeling shy and nervous.  
  
Anthony noticed his reaction. He put a reassuring hand on Sören's shoulder. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'm not trying to force you. It's just that you're damned good. You have a gift, and I feel like it should be shared with the world..."  
  
Sören got choked up again, hearing the sincere praise in Anthony's words, the _pride_ that Anthony felt in Sören's art. Sören remembered Einar's cruelty, ripping up his sketches, mocking him. Anthony's attitude towards his art was like a balm for that wound, and Sören saw it now - this would, if nothing else, give him a sense of closure. Even if it was the only show he ever did, it would be a tangible reminder that Einar's words were lies.  
  
"OK," Sören said simply.  
  
"...OK? You mean, you'll talk to Mum on Sunday about..."  
  
Sören nodded. "You think she can really get me a show someplace?"  
  
"She can probably put you in touch with the right people. Maybe invoke an outstanding favor or two, but honestly I don't think it'll take that for someone to want to show your work. It's brilliant."  
  
Sören kissed him. "You're brilliant for being so encouraging. Really."  
  
"Your art isn't just lovely in and of itself, but you're lovely when you're making it. You come alive." Anthony stroked Sören's face. "It's like you're on fire, when I've seen you draw or paint."  
  
"Well, this fire wants to get you warm." Sören put the tablet down and wrapped himself around Anthony. "You need more sleep."  
  
Anthony made noises of mock protest and Sören rained kisses over his face until he quieted down. Then Sören turned off the light and they rocked together, legs entwined, until they fell back asleep.  
  
  
_  
  
They are in the garden at Anthony's palace again, with Anthony lovingly watering the plants. He waves his hand over each one and Sören watches as the plant is encased in a bubble of gold light, and then gold shimmers in the veins of the plant as the bubble fades. Anthony has a serene smile on his face, strands of silver-gold hair stirring in the breeze.  
  
"You say I come alive in the forge. This is where you come alive, my brother. Here in the green."  
  
They want to be married, but the laws forbid them, not just because they are brothers, but because they are two men. Sören has been working in the forge on a ring, in secret, and here and now, Sören pulls the ring from his pocket to show him.  
  
Anthony smiles at the golden flowers, the snakes like the ones that visit his garden, and the brilliant emerald.  
  
"An emerald because of all of this," Sören says, gesturing to the garden. "Because of the way the plants thrive in your care. Your power." Sören places a hand on his heart. "Your life."  
  
"It's perfect." Anthony takes it. "You're perfect." He throws his arms around Sören and kisses him, and as the kiss deepens, heats, Anthony pulls him down into the grass to love with him right there.  
  
Time flashes forward, into their present bodies, and Sören sees the green of Anthony's eyes, like the stone set on the ring.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören woke up to feeling something soft brushing over his cheeks, his nose, and at last his lips. He smelled a fresh rose, and he woke up to see Anthony was on the bed, naked, with a long-stemmed red rose from yesterday's bouquet in his hand. Sören grinned at him, and giggled as Anthony rubbed his nose with the rose again. Then he sighed as Anthony trailed the rose down Sören's neck, a soft caress, and Sören moaned as the rose petals brushed one nipple, then the other.  
  
Sören glanced over at the clock. It was just after eleven AM; Sören was going into work at seven PM.  
  
"Here," Anthony said, handing Sören a glass of champagne. "Good morning."  
  
"We're drinking champagne for breakfast?" Sören laughed as he took a sip.  
  
"And eating chocolates." Anthony opened the box of chocolates and held one to Sören's lips. Sören bit off half and Anthony put the other half in his mouth, and then came closer for a kiss.  
  
"How did you sleep?" Sören asked, taking a chocolate from the box and feeding Anthony.  
  
"Well," Anthony said, nodding. "Shagging to exhaustion certainly helped." Then he gestured to the blanket fort around the bed, still standing. "I think this did, too. A very safe, cozy feeling."  
  
"That was what I was hoping for." Sören nibbled on a chocolate and he stroked his beard, considering. "You know, you have a four-poster bed. Maybe we could get one of those canopy curtain things, which would be like a more elegant blanket fort..."  
  
Anthony grinned. "I like that idea."  
  
"Good." Sören kissed him. Then he realized in the over-a-year that he'd been living with Anthony it was the first time he'd suggested some sort of change to the decor.  
  
They ate a few more chocolates, sipped champagne, and then just kissed, holding each other, hard cocks rubbing together.  
  
"I could get used to this," Anthony said.  
  
"Me too." Sören frowned. "I wish I didn't have to go in later."  
  
"I know. Let's just... enjoy the time we have." Anthony kissed him. "I want to spend all day in bed with you."  
  
Sören kissed him back. "And I... want to spend a lifetime in bed with you."  
  
Their eyes met, and Anthony kissed him hard and deep, cock grinding against his more insistently.  
  
They made slow, sweet, languid love, cock rubbing cock, kissing, caressing. Lost in a dreamy haze of sensuality, and the powerful feeling of love, connectedness, Sören felt at peace. But, as his mind wondered what had happened before, why they were here now, why they had to find each other all over again, Sören wondered if it was the calm before the storm, if history was doomed to repeat itself...


	33. Samson and Delilah

The very last thing Sören wanted to do after a fourteen-hour shift was go out with Anthony's friends, and yet here they were on a Friday night. Sören couldn't wait to get home, cuddle with Anthony and get to sleep. He was exhausted enough - and bored, listening to Anthony's friends prattle on about their latest toys and how much they spent on them - that it was a struggle to stay awake even with having coffee. Every time his heavy eyes closed, he made himself snap to attention, not wanting Steve to throw water in his face like he'd joked about months before. But even with the possibility that Steve might do that - and get into a fight with Anthony - Sören was finding it harder, fading a little more and a little more each time, his reflex to wake back up getting slower.  
  
And then he heard a spoon bang on a glass - Anthony's - and he startled awake, giving a little gasp. Anthony gave him an apologetic smile-frown and reached to squeeze Sören's knee under the table.  
  
"I have an announcement to make," Anthony said.  
  
All eyes were suddenly on them. Sören had a feeling he knew what the announcement was and he felt like crawling under the table to hide. _Oh god. Oh no._  
  
"Sören is having some of his paintings on exhibit at a gallery in Bermondsey in two weeks, on Friday, March twenty-second." Anthony gave Sören a proud smile, kissed his cheek, and put an arm around him, tousling Sören's curls.  
  
"Oh, nice," Jack said in a very bland, not-really-excited tone of voice. "Which gallery would that be?"  
  
"Blue Moon," Anthony said. "The show is at eight PM."  
  
Sören was really hoping that Anthony wasn't going to invite his friends, but then, he hadn't told Anthony that he couldn't - Sören thought about it, but he decided that would come off as rude and possibly cause problems. But now that it was done, Sören wished Anthony hadn't. He didn't like being around them, and he didn't want to potentially subject his art, something sacred to him, to their scrutiny.  
  
And yet, Anthony was so proud, beaming at Sören, already excited for the show, so much like an eager puppydog that Sören couldn't be angry or upset with him for sharing the information. Anthony kissed his cheek again, eyes shining, happy for him. Sören managed a smile and patted Anthony's shoulder.  
  
"My girlfriend and I can't make it, apologies," Lawrence said. "We're going to see a jazz concert."  
  
"I won't be able to make it either," Steve said, and Sören heard himself breathe a small sigh of relief. "That's when I begin spring vacation, I'm going to the property my grandmother left me for two weeks."  
  
Anthony looked disappointed, frowning slightly, his brow furrowed - meanwhile, Sören fought off a grin that Steve wasn't coming; of all of Anthony's friends he liked Steve the least. And then Trisha and Vincente looked at each other, and Trisha said to him, "Hm, darling, what do you think? Should I wear the little black Dior, or should I wear something bolder, like the red Dolce and Gabbana dress?"  
  
Sören's jaw dropped. Blue Moon was an artsy, bohemian little gallery in Bermondsey, on a street of artisan shops and eateries - it was between a vegan restaurant and a boutique of handmade clothing designed by two aging punks. Trisha was acting like she was getting dressed up to go to Christie's.  
  
"Well, you'd look lovely in anything," Vincente said, taking Trisha's hand and kissing it.  
  
"Isn't... isn't that overdressing?" Sören raised an eyebrow.  
  
"Oh heavens no, Sören, have you _seen_ the art world? People put on their best to attend these things." Trisha giggled and sipped her champagne. Then she leaned forward. "So tell me, what are you planning on wearing?"  
  
"Uh." Sören's face fell. "I hadn't thought about it, really." The show was two weeks out and Sören was still deciding what pieces he was going to display - he was sharing the show with two other artists and each of them got to display ten paintings, for thirty total. What to wear was of much less concern, since the focus was on his art, not him. Or so Sören thought.  
  
Trisha tutted, sipping her champagne again, and Sören decided he needed to think fast. He stroked his beard and after a minute he said, "I suppose I can wear, like, the black ruffly pirate shirt and black leather pants I've worn on dates with Anthony. It's got an artsy flair."  
  
Trisha giggled, facepalmed, and shook her head. Vincente chuckled and rolled his eyes. Then Vincente looked him in the eye and said, "Sören, you can't wear that. You need to look professional."  
  
Sören narrowed his eyes. Blue Moon didn't give off a "professional" vibe, it gave off an artsy vibe. But then, Sören had never been to an art show before and he didn't know what to expect, and the gallery owner hadn't told him anything about expected dress code or the like, as if he assumed Sören already knew. "I take it you guys have been to art shows, then?"  
  
Trisha nodded. "My sister Julia paints and makes pottery, she's had a fair few shows over the years. The shows that I've been to, people dress up."  
  
"Suit and tie," Vincente said. "That's what you should wear to the show."  
  
"Well." Sören glanced at Anthony. "I guess that means I'll be borrowing one of yours, then." He looked back at Trisha and Vincente. "I don't own a suit and tie."  
  
Trisha's mouth made an "o" and Vincente's eyebrows went up. Vincente then gave Anthony a confused look.  
  
"How is it you're dating someone who doesn't own a suit and tie?" Vincente asked.  
  
Anthony looked a little offended now, glaring at them. "I like Sören the way he is," Anthony said. "I didn't get in a relationship with him to try to change him, try to 'tame' him or 'refine' him." Anthony grinned at Sören then and said, "He's my wild boy."  
  
Sören grinned back, heart soaring, feeling giddy at Anthony's words. He was also relieved - sometimes he felt acutely self-conscious of coming from such a different background, feeling out of place in the world Anthony and his friends traveled with ease. Knowing Anthony didn't merely accept him as he was, but it was part of the attraction... Sören appreciated that, and now it was his turn to kiss Anthony on the cheek, making Anthony blush, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he bit his lower lip with a shy smile that Sören found incredibly adorable and sexy, wanting to drag Anthony off and ravish him.  
  
"Well, that's all very fine and good," Trisha said, with an edge to her voice that made it clear it really wasn't, "but Sören, you should own at least one suit. You never know when you might have occasion to wear it, and really, your upcoming show is that sort of occasion."  
  
"I don't mind borrowing one of Anthony's suits," Sören said.  
  
"The two of you are of a similar build but Anthony's, what, a good five centimeters taller?" Vincente shook his head. "That makes a difference in how the suit fits, it might be only a subtle difference to you if you're not in the habit of wearing them but other people will notice, and you don't want someone judging your sense of aesthetics on the basis of a suit not fitting properly."  
  
Sören thought that was ridiculous and his art should speak for itself, just like his taste in music had little to do with what the performers looked like, but before he could say as much, Trisha said, "Sören, let us take you shopping for a suit."  
  
Before Sören could protest, Vincente said, "Yes! It would be fun to go shopping with you. A bonding experience, get to know Anthony's fiancé a bit better..."  
  
Sören thought a root canal without anaesthesia would be more fun, but he didn't say so aloud. And there was Anthony, nodding. "That's nice of you," Anthony said. "It would be good if you could be friends, considering we go way back..."  
  
"Absolutely," Trisha said. "We're a part of your life and we're not going anywhere, and with Sören being such a big part of your life, well... it's only right to try to include him more." She smiled at Sören, but it didn't meet her eyes - it seemed the sort of smile Trisha would give a client or opposing counsel, cold and distant. Sören didn't trust that smile.  
  
"When's your next evening off, Sören?" Vincente asked.  
  
"Monday," Sören said, trying to hide the weariness in his voice.  
  
"Er," Anthony said. "Monday won't do. I told my dad I'd help with the garden -"  
  
"You go help your dad," Trisha said. "We can take Sören out by himself. Like I said, it'll be a chance to bond. He'll be in good hands with us." Trisha gave that cool, aloof smile again.  
  
Sören felt a prickle of apprehension, desperately wanting to say no. He'd been looking forward to a quiet Monday evening at Elaine and Roger's, especially when after that he'd be working the next six days before he got another break. Going out with Trisha and Vincente and being social would be draining even if he liked them. And he did not. He not only merely did not like them, but he had a bad feeling about this whole thing. He didn't understand why, and he thought maybe he was being unfair. _I should give them a chance and not judge a book by its cover. After all, Anthony turned out to be wonderful._  
  
But that was Anthony. He doubted very much Trisha and Vincente were down-to-earth behind closed doors the way Anthony was.  
  
Sören looked at Anthony and Anthony just nodded, patting Sören. "Go make friends," Anthony said.  
  
_Fuck._  
  
In the car on the way back, Sören was completely silent. Some of it was just being exhausted from a long shift and then dragged out to socialize when he would have rather stayed at home. But some of it - most of it - was Sören's discomfort with the impending shopping trip...  
  
...having yet another free night taken up by Anthony's friends.  
  
Sören continued his silence on the way upstairs, and though he'd taken a shower after work, before they went to the restaurant, Sören felt like he needed to scrub a layer of skin off and hopped in the shower again, as hot as he could stand it. He locked the door to the bathroom before he took a shower, so Anthony wouldn't join him in the shower - he needed to be alone right now. He wasn't _quite_ angry with Anthony, but he wasn't happy with him, either.  
  
Anthony was waiting for him, already in a T-shirt and his boxer-briefs, when Sören finished his shower and walked into their bedroom, in a towel, so he could get changed into pajamas. Anthony was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands between his knees, looking down at the floor, and when Sören came in he looked up and their eyes met before Sören turned his back to open the dresser drawer.  
  
As Sören began pulling on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, Anthony said, "You're upset with me."  
  
Sören sighed. He paused, standing there shirtless in his pajama pants, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look. Anthony. I've had a very long day -"  
  
"So have I."  
  
Sören took his hand down from his face and folded his arms. _Now_ he was pissed off. "Oh, _have you_?" Sören heard his voice rising, and he felt the sneer on his face. "You were up since three AM this morning, spending fourteen hours on your feet?"  
  
"No, I was only up since five this morning... after being up till eleven PM last night." Anthony gave Sören a withering look. "You know, I get it that you work really brutal, intense shifts. But just because you have it a bit harder doesn't mean I don't have it rough at all, and that's quite honestly really insensitive of you to dismiss my job like that. We both save lives, you do it in your way, I do it in mine, and we both go down to the pits of bloody hell to rescue those poor souls, day in, day out. So don't you stand there and act like you're the only person bleeding out here. Don't you fucking dare."  
  
Sören was taken aback. He knew that Anthony argued for a living in court, and he knew that Anthony had a reputation as "the Shark", metaphorically going after blood when he smelled it. But up until now Anthony had always been gentle and tender with him, and now Anthony was showing him a different face, and Sören knew it wasn't even all that Anthony was capable of.  
  
Despite himself, Sören's cock stirred, as their eyes met again and Sören studied the intense, fierce look on Anthony's face.  
  
"I wasn't trying to imply that what you do doesn't matter -"  
  
Anthony turned his head. "Forget it."  
  
"No. I told you I'm tired and had a long day because I didn't want to have this conversation, but now that you've started it, we're going to fucking finish it." Sören responded to Anthony's pride with his own, anger surging in him, his cock throbbing, wanting to bite and scratch and be bitten and scratched and slam into him and be pounded into, struggling for dominance. "I do _not_ appreciate you pushing me to go out with _those people_ on the only night off I am going to have for _the next fucking week._ Anthony, we've been together for over a year now, surely you must realize that I don't have time or energy for this shit, and even if I did, I'm not exactly compatible with your crowd."  
  
"I know that you haven't given them a chance," Anthony said, meeting Sören's eyes again. "You've written them off because they're rich people and you're from a working-class background and that makes you uncomfortable. But they're _trying_ to make you feel included and welcome. You're not being fair."  
  
"No, what I'm being is _tired_," Sören said. "Do you not understand that on the only night I have off for the next week, the very last thing I want to do is bloody _suit shopping_ with those two? And here you are pushing me along."  
  
"I did it because it's not good for you to be so isolated," Anthony said. "You don't have friends. I get that some of it is lack of time and energy, I'm not disputing that's in short supply, but a lot of it, and you and I both know this, is because you were bullied too, as a kid, you made friends just to have them turn against you and join the crowd that picked on you. I get it. But maybe it's time for you to try to start moving on with your life."  
  
"Oh, really? And maybe I should be the judge of when it is or isn't time, instead of you trying to make that decision for me about when I should be over something that happened to me." Sören shook his head, feeling even angrier. His heart was hammering in his ears. "I can't fucking believe you."  
  
"I'm trying to look out for you." Their eyes met again and Anthony's voice broke, just a little. And then Sören saw Anthony's eyes were too bright, on the verge of tears. "We're going to be married later this year, I'm trying to share my life with you..." Anthony looked away and covered his mouth with the heel of his hand, and Sören saw his jaw tremble. Anthony blinked, and his free hand clenched, as if he were fighting back tears.  
  
Sören felt like his heart was breaking. He hadn't meant to make Anthony cry. In the back of his mind he could hear Elaine's warning: _Be careful with my son. ...You are his safe place, Sören. He hasn't just let you into his home, but you are his home. When I look at my son, with you, I see the same sweet, sensitive boy who was chased into a tree and fell out and broke his femur, whose spirit was broken that day. You give him back a part of himself that he's lost._  
  
"Hey." Sören sat on the bed next to him and pulled Anthony into his arms, began to rock him. "Hey. _Hey._"  
  
"I'm sorry." Anthony sniffled. He closed his eyes. "I shouldn't cry..."  
  
"To hell with 'should' or 'shouldn't', spare me that he-man macho crap." Sören stroked Anthony's face, smoothed his hair. Then he cupped Anthony's chin and made Anthony look into his eyes. "Look. We're both tired, and emotions are running high when we're like this. I just..." Sören sighed and shook his head. "Maybe you're right that I'm being unfair with Trisha and Vincente, but I can't shake the gut feeling that if I go out with them on Monday, it won't end well."  
  
Anthony pursed his lips. He took a deep breath, and then he took Sören's hand and kissed it before putting it to his heart. "I don't like fighting with you."  
  
"I don't like fighting with you either." _Even though apparently it makes me fucking horny._  
  
"I don't mean for you to feel... forced." Anthony frowned, his brow furrowed. "After what you've been through, I don't want you to feel like you're being pushed into anything without your consent -"  
  
"I know. And I know you didn't realize that when you..." Sören sighed. "I know you were just trying to help."  
  
"If you really, _really_ do not want to go with them on Monday, I'll understand." Their eyes met, and held. Anthony chuckled then. "I can make up something, like I can lie and tell them you have a migraine and your stomach's bothering you..."  
  
"Please don't do that." Sören was uncomfortable with that, especially when he would be at work the next day and one of his patients might be someone who knew them.  
  
"I was just trying to help," Anthony said again, and there was sadness in his eyes and Sören could hear the hurt little boy in his voice who just wanted friends, wanted to belong somewhere, wanted to share with his very best friend. "I don't want you to feel left out, and, well, I had this stupid idea that my friends could be your friends and we'd all -"  
  
Sören felt like his heart was breaking again, like he was disappointing that small, hurt boy, and he held Anthony again, squeezed him tight. "I'll go."  
  
"You..."  
  
"I said I'll go." Sören sighed. "I'll try to give them a chance."  
  
Anthony threw his arms around Sören and hugged him hard. He kissed Sören's cheek. "Thank you."  
  
"Anything for my little brother," Sören said without thinking about it - it just slipped out. It felt so natural to call him that, now.  
  
Anthony's response was to grab Sören's face and kiss him hungrily; Sören knew that their game of being brothers awakened passion in them both, but he also knew the hurt part of Anthony that just wanted friends and to belong somewhere was responding, and Sören found himself kissing Anthony back with all of the fire in him, feeling fiercely protective of him in his vulnerability. _Let me make it better, my love._  
  
Then Anthony bit Sören's lower lip, hard enough to draw blood - both a tangible way of acknowledging their bond as brother-lovers, in the other world of their dreams, and a call back to the aggression of a few minutes ago. Sören groaned as Anthony sucked on his lower lip, tasting the blood, and moaned as they kissed again, tasting the metallic tongue of his blood on Anthony's tongue. Anthony was palming the hard-on in Sören's pajama bottoms now, and when he started kissing Sören's neck, Sören heard himself say "oh _shit_," melting as Anthony's lips and tongue teased one of his most exquisitely sensitive places.  
  
Anthony's hand rubbed the hard bulge in Sören's pajama pants more firmly, insistently, and before they could get too carried away, Sören said, "Here, let's get ready for bed."  
  
Anthony pouted, and Sören said, "Someone has to be the adult," chuckling, and Anthony laughed too. He followed Sören to the bathroom and they brushed their teeth together, then stole a few minty-fresh kisses in the bathroom mirror, leaning against the sink as they held each other, hands roaming, kisses deeper and needier until they were both breathless and trembling and Sören wasn't sure who was dragging who back to the bedroom.  
  
Their nightclothes quickly fell to the floor in a haphazard heap and they tumbled into bed together, laughing before kissing fiercely, like they were starving for each other. Sören took their hard cocks together in his fist, stroking slowly, shivering as Anthony's hands slid over him, moaning as Anthony resumed kissing his neck. He cried out when Anthony bit his neck, and cried out again when Anthony bit his shoulder, his cock jolting, throbbing, spurting a little precum, aching for relief.  
  
There was a wicked look in Anthony's eyes before he claimed Sören's mouth again. "Someone likes that."  
  
"Mmmm."  
  
Anthony raised an eyebrow, his lips quirked with amusement. "It seems almost as if you got aroused by us fighting."  
  
"Yeah, a little." _More like a lot._ Sören giggled and gave him a kiss. "You look so sexy when you're pissed off."  
  
"So do you." Anthony kissed him back, fingers brushing one of Sören's nipples before he tugged on the ring and pinched it, making Sören gasp and quiver. "I don't like fighting with you, _but_..."  
  
"But." Their eyes met. Sören grinned. "Now we can have makeup sex."  
  
"OK." Anthony laughed before he kissed Sören again.  
  
Sören rolled Anthony onto his back and now it was his turn to kiss Anthony's neck, cock throbbing as he licked Anthony's neck, nibbled it, and Anthony moaned in response, arching to him. Sören used his teeth a little more, growling, his cock twinging urgently at Anthony panting, grasping at him feverishly.  
  
"You called me your wild boy," Sören rasped, nipping at Anthony's throat before soothing with his tongue. "I think I'd like to show you just how wild I can be."  
  
"God, yes." Anthony grabbed Sören and kissed him hard. "Bring out the beast, Sören." Then he chuckled. "Though, go easy on my neck, people have to see that."  
  
"That's fine. I'll just leave love bites all over the rest of you." With that, Sören nibbled on Anthony's chest, licking between bites, and he nibbled and licked his way down. When he tugged a nipple with his teeth, Anthony's breath hitched, and when Sören nibbled on it Anthony cried out, Sören's cock jolting, wanting to take him and be taken.  
  
But he didn't give in to that urge just yet, making good on his promise to bite Anthony all over. Sören licked every place that he bit, smiling at the way Anthony trembled and broke out into gooseflesh, making the most delicious moans as Sören got him where he knew Anthony was sensitive - nipples, stomach, hips, thighs, behind the knee, and back up to nibble and lick Anthony's thighs, growling, as Anthony shuddered and clutched at Sören, moaning. Anthony at last found his words and ground out, "Fuck me, big brother."  
  
Sören was too far gone in his lust to deny him any longer. He growled as he reached for the lube, kissed Anthony fiercely as he readied them both. He showed restraint as he pushed in, not wanting to hurt Anthony, but when he was all the way inside and Anthony had time to adjust, Sören showed him no mercy, Anthony's legs on his shoulders as he pounded him into the mattress, a savage, furious rhythm. Anthony loved it, clawing Sören's back, biting his shoulder, making feral noises as he rocked his hips back at Sören, matching his pace, giving it back as good as he got. They lost themselves in the fuck, reaching that place of pure animal fever, where the only thing that existed was their need for each other, all pleasure, all possession. Sören loved unleashing like this, and he loved that Anthony was just as wild, able to keep up with him, fire calling to fire.  
  
When Anthony climaxed, spouting over Sören's chest and stomach with a cry, Sören stroked his face - tenderness in the eye of the storm - savoring, cherishing the look on his face, completely gone into ecstasy, looking like he was having a religious experience. The shuddery sigh Anthony gave as he trembled, continuing to spend over him, made Sören sigh too, tearing up at the beauty of him in orgasmic bliss, just before his own release, spiraling into blinding light, then down into blessed darkness where everything was peace and nothing hurt.  
  
"I love you," Sören heard himself say, over and over again. "I love you. I love you. I love you."  
  
They rested for awhile and then they nuzzled, petting. Little kisses gave way to deeper ones, and Sören rose again, slipping out of Anthony and rolling onto his back. But then Anthony gave him a wicked grin before grabbing Sören and rolling him onto his stomach. Sören gasped, and his cock jolted. He thrust his ass out at Anthony, and almost sobbed with relief when Anthony took him, stretching him, filling him, _claiming_ him. "Yes, yes, _yes,_" Sören panted.  
  
Anthony leaned down, laying against Sören's back, and bit the place where Sören's nape and shoulder met, then started to thrust, just as hard and fast as Sören had fucked him. Sören howled, fingers curling, fisting the pillows, rocking back at him. "Oh shit, oh god, yes," Sören cried out. "Fuck me, fuck me, _fuck me._ Fuck me, brother..."  
  
Anthony growled and bit Sören's shoulder, bit his neck, grabbed Sören's curls. "If this is what happens when we fight, maybe we should make up shit to argue about," Anthony teased.  
  
Sören tilted his face to grin at Anthony. "You talk too much, _elskan_," Sören teased back, and gave Anthony a deep, passionate kiss.  
  
  
_  
  
  
By the time Vincente's BMW pulled up in front of Emporio Armani, Sören was already feeling sick with anxiety. He had been riding in the back seat, with Trisha in the passenger's seat, and Vincente had the car stereo on - some indie band Sören didn't recognize - but despite music, Sören was on edge, made worse by Vincente and Trisha making small talk with him. Sören hated small talk.  
  
Anthony had handed Sören one of his credit cards before he left; though Sören could afford an Armani suit or two, Anthony knew Sören wouldn't be suit shopping of his own accord, and felt responsible for encouraging Sören to go out with them, so he felt providing the funds for the shopping trip was also his responsibility. What Anthony didn't say, but Sören also picked up on, was that Anthony was a bit old-fashioned, thinking of Sören as being like his "wife", which Sören didn't mind exactly - he thought it was adorably quaint - but Sören did wish that Anthony was a little less hung up on the idea that he had to "provide". And Sören was very, very uncomfortable about spending someone else's money, even someone he was going to marry in November.  
  
Sören started off being fitted for a suit, with an associate taking his exact measurements. Then Vincente and Trisha led him around the store, pausing Sören every few paces to hold up jackets and trousers against him and exchange glances, making commentary on what would look good or not. Some pieces were put back, but Vincente began to amass a pile, and when they'd narrowed it down to three suits, they dragged Sören to the fitting rooms to try things on.  
  
Sören felt ridiculous as he tried on the first suit, a dark navy pinstripe with a lighter blue shirt, feeling like he was performing drag badly. When he looked in the full-length mirror of the changing stall, his eyes widened with disbelief - now he thought he _looked_ ridiculous too, like he was wearing something that was so obviously not him. Nonetheless, he came out, hesitantly, where Trisha and Vincente were waiting.  
  
"Oh, _very nice_," Trisha said, and for once her compliment sounded sincere.  
  
"You look very dapper," Vincente said, nodding. "That's a good color on you."  
  
Sometimes it was hard for Sören to believe that Vincente was straight, though Anthony had described Vincente as "metrosexual" more than once and Sören supposed that explained why Vincente was as fashion-and-appearance-conscious as the gay stereotype. Sören mumbled a "_takk_" before he ducked back in the changing stall.  
  
The second suit was charcoal grey and looked exactly like one of the suits Anthony owned, right down to the white shirt that went with it. But, Sören thought it looked better on Anthony. Once again Sören felt like an impostor, his cheeks burning as he stepped out of the stall.  
  
"Oh, I think I like that better than the first one," Trisha said.  
  
Vincente nodded. "Grey and black seems like it suits you more."  
  
"Black has always been my color," Sören said, and immediately felt stupid saying it.  
  
The last suit was burgundy wool, a bit bolder while the color was still muted and not garish. When Trisha had added it to Vincente's pile, Sören had thought initially that maybe this would be the one, since as an artist he lived for color and this seemed to have a little more personality. And now, looking at himself, he felt the most uncomfortable in this, like he stood out too much, intensifying the feeling that he was an impostor and didn't belong in a suit or a world that required him to wear a suit.  
  
"Never mind what I said about grey and black being better on you," Vincente said. "That's the one."  
  
"I don't know." Trisha frowned. "I still like the charcoal one more."  
  
Sören sighed. The charcoal grey suit stood out the least of the three of them, which was better for the purposes of discomfort, but it also felt the most "professional" and the least him. Nothing was really going to make him feel OK with wearing a suit, and he didn't want to have to pick it out himself.  
  
"Why not get both the burgundy and the charcoal suit, and let Anthony pick it out for you?" Trisha asked, as if she sensed Sören's reluctance to make a decision. "It's always good to have one suit, but you ought to have more than one, being engaged to a lawyer, really."  
  
Sören balked at the price tag, feeling ready to shit himself at the counter. Anthony knew he was getting _a_ suit, it was another thing entirely to get two suits and spend over two thousand pounds of Anthony's money. Sören felt himself choking a little as the sales associate rang them out, not even able to muster a polite reply to anything the man was saying. Sören had spent more on clothing in this trip than he'd ever spent in his entire life, and it just cemented that feeling that he did not belong in this world.  
  
_I don't belong anywhere. I am in this world, but not of it._ In his mind's eye Sören saw the painting he had made awhile back, called _Spirit of Fire_, himself molting with feathers of flame like an ancient, forgotten deity, half-phoenix, half-man. His skin felt on fire now, as if something older were stirring in him, and for the briefest instant his mind's eye saw everything go up in flames, then rise from the flames, the building transfigured into a cathedral-palace of crystal and glass and gold, the walls chiming like water in glass or singing bowls...  
  
_The fuck._ Sören blinked as Trisha waved a hand in front of his eyes. "Earth to Sören," Trisha said. "You ready to go, or do you want to look around some more?"  
  
"I think we better go," Sören said. "I've spent enough today."  
  
Vincente and Trisha laughed like this was the funniest thing they've ever heard. "Oh, _you,_" Trisha said, waving her hand.  
  
"Two thousand quid at Armani is light shopping," Vincente said, chuckling as he led them out of the store.  
  
Sören looked back over his shoulder as they headed out to the car, both in disbelief that he'd been in Emporio Armani at all - it felt surreal, like he'd hallucinated the entire experience... the brief hallucination he'd had in the store felt more real, and that was the other reason why he was looking over his shoulder, to make sure the store was still the store, that it hadn't magically transformed. Yet Sören could smell the faintest hint of woodsmoke...  
  
He shivered as he got in the back of the BMW, even though he was dressed for winter and it wasn't particularly cold on this early March day.  
  
Sören had known in advance that Trisha and Vincente wanted to take him out to dinner after the shopping trip, as part of the package of offering friendship. Sören was not surprised Vincente was taking them to an Italian restaurant, since that was his heritage, though Sören thought the best Italian food came from humble little hole-in-the-wall family-owned places - he and Anthony had a favorite for delivery - and here was a very upscale restaurant, where the maître d' was wearing a tuxedo and gave Sören a disapproving look.  
  
There was no official dress code - Vincente was wearing a black blazer and trousers, white shirt, no tie, and Trisha was wearing a royal blue pantsuit with a lighter blue camisole, her hair in a messy bun. But as they were led to their table, Sören saw most of the restaurant patrons were wearing ties if not suits, Vincente and Trisha looked a bit underdressed compared to most of them, and Sören himself was even more underdressed even though he was in a black button-down long-sleeved shirt and black trousers.  
  
Sören felt even more nervous looking at the menu, where none of the meals were under sixty quid. Everything also seemed much more complicated than what Sören was used to at other Italian restaurants - he just wanted a simple lasagna or eggplant parmesan or maybe some pizza. In the end, Sören decided to go with what Vincente was having, trusting his judgment as someone who had been here before.  
  
After their wine was brought to the table, while they waited for their food, Sören shifted in his seat awkwardly, watching as Trisha and Vincente made eyes at each other. Finally Sören felt like he ought to break the silence, even as he felt uncomfortable initiating conversation, and he said, "So Anthony tells me you guys go back a bit, já?"  
  
"He was in our diploma conversion group," Trisha said, nodding.  
  
"He was a bit older than us, by a few years, and he was the best student in our class. He just knew so much, and he was confident. And he'd had more life experience than us too, he'd been to Europe. It was impressive." Vincente smiled.  
  
"He had all these stories of his travels, the places he'd been, the things he'd done."  
  
"Like a regular Bilbo Baggins," Sören said, sipping his wine, though his brain nagged him with _No, not Bilbo. And definitely not a hobbit._ He found that reaction curious, but put it on the shelf.  
  
"Anthony's a dear," Trisha went on, "and we're glad he's finally settling down. Though I have to say, I never thought it would be with someone so..."  
  
Sören waited, stiffening, his eyes narrowing.  
  
"Different," Trisha said, her lips quirking slightly before she sipped her wine.  
  
"Jæja, Anthony and I are very different," Sören said, feeling himself bristle - he didn't need the obvious pointed out to him, and wondered what the point was of making such a statement, unless it was to make him uncomfortable. "But you know what they say, opposites attract. And he and I are alike in ways that matter." Sören sipped his wine. "We both want to help people. We're both driven, like a fire consuming us." _Like we're meant for something more._  
  
"It's nice when you have someone who understands you," Vincente said, and Trisha nodded.  
  
Sören needed to change the subject. "So Anthony told me a bit about why he went into law..." He gestured to the both of them. "What about you?"  
  
"Papa is a barrister," Trisha said. "He's a QC now..."  
  
"QC?" Sören had heard Anthony say the abbreviation before but it didn't register - sometimes Anthony spoke legal jargon like he just assumed Sören knew what he was on about, and Sören didn't have the faintest clue apart from it seemed to be Anthony's endgame for his legal career, something he aspired to eventually.  
  
"Queen's Counsel. Also known as a Silk. Law runs in my family, my grandfather is an earl and he was a barrister his whole life. He comes from a long line of barristers." Trisha swirled the wine around in her glass. "I have no brothers, it's just me and my sister. My sister went into art, and I carried on the family legacy of law, traditionally held by the men of the family. I'd thought about going into theatre when I was in public school, but Papa did so want someone to fill his shoes."  
  
_So you're doing it to please your family and not because you actually want to do it._ Sören felt vaguely disgusted by that.  
  
"But I can't complain too much, the money is good, and it will only get better as time goes on." Trisha grinned, and reminded Sören very much of a hungry wolf who had spotted prey.  
  
"Yeah, that's why I got into law." Vincente also smiled. "The money."  
  
"Indeed." Trisha raised her glass, and Vincente clinked it. "The lifestyle to which we are accustomed."  
  
_The two of you fucking deserve each other._ The sick feeling that Sören had on the way to the Armani store came roiling back. _Your clients are people, you're playing with people's fates, people's lives, and they're just pound signs to you._  
  
Even though the meal was good - a chicken and pasta dish - Sören found he had no appetite, nibbling and finally asking for a container to bring the rest home. He felt relief sinking in as he got in the back seat of the BMW again, wanting to be done with this experience, wanting to go home and take a hot shower, scrub off the icky feeling he had around them.  
  
But they weren't heading to Kingston just yet. Sören felt a twinge of anxiety as Vincente drove. "Um... where are we going?" Sören asked.  
  
"We have one last destination on our itinerary," Trisha said.  
  
She wasn't going to volunteer any more information than that, and Sören was afraid to ask. Then when Vincente slowed down and pulled into a parking stall Sören saw where he'd been taken - a hair salon.  
  
"Oh no." Sören shook his head, feeling a wave of terror. "Oh no no no no no -"  
  
"It was really tough to make this appointment with Jean-Yves on such short notice," Trisha said.  
  
"Jean-Yves is my stylist. You'll be in good hands," Vincente assured him.  
  
"_I don't want my hair cut._" The words came out through gritted teeth, and Sören stopped himself from tossing in a f-bomb, not wanting them to complain to Anthony later.  
  
"Sören, everyone gets split ends and needs a little trim once in awhile," Trisha said, sounding like a parent dealing with an unreasonable child having a temper tantrum. "You don't want people turning up their noses at your art because you can't be arsed to take care of your split ends, do you?"  
  
Sören didn't think his hair was that bad - Anthony had certainly never complained about it, and Anthony seemed like the type of person who would politely, gently suggest trimming split ends if they were a noticeable problem. But Sören didn't know what to think, as it was he hadn't thought borrowing one of Anthony's suits would be that big of a deal and they were telling him someone would notice it didn't fit him as well as something built for his exact measurements. So reluctantly he followed them out of the car, walking slowly to the salon, feeling like his every step was leaden.  
  
The salon purported to be unisex and the inside of the salon was done in soft creams and pinks, with vaporwave playing in the background. "We're here for Jean-Yves," Trisha said at the desk, and a middle-aged woman with long silver curly hair, wearing a maroon dress and a lot of beaded necklaces, nodded and walked off.  
  
A few minutes later she came back with a short, slender man with a black fauxhawk, goatee and intense grey eyes, wearing faded skinny jeans and a long-sleeved purple button-down shirt that was open a few buttons at the top, a black rosary around his neck. He clapped his hands. "Allo, allo!" he called out. "I am 'ere for ze 'aircut. 'Oo 'ave we got today?"  
  
Trisha pushed Sören forward.  
  
"Oof, I see," Jean-Yves said, clicking his tongue and making a face like they had dragged in Sören from the street. He reached out a hand and mussed Sören's mop of curls; Sören felt the urge to smack his hand away. "Come along, _cher_, Jean-Yves will feex zat 'air of yours."  
  
Vincente hung back, reading a magazine, and Trisha followed Sören, taking a seat to watch as Jean-Yves got to work. Sören had a very bad feeling about this entire thing, heart hammering as he sat in the chair, but he started to relax a little as Jean-Yves began to shampoo his hair, enjoying the scent of the soap and the feeling of the scalp massage.  
  
Then the unthinkable happened. Jean-Yves took a hunk of Sören's hair and chopped it. Sören's eyes blinked open with alarm and when he looked at himself in the mirror he saw Jean-Yves hadn't taken "a little off, just split ends" like Trisha had assured, he'd cut that piece of hair _short_.  
  
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING?" Sören screamed, not caring if he made a scene.  
  
Jean-Yves blinked and paused, and gave Sören a look like he was offended. "_Monsieur_, I am cutting your 'air. Like zere was an appointment to do -"  
  
"No fucking shit, Sherlock." Sören was _furious_ now. He glared daggers at Jean-Yves, then at Trisha. "You said it was to trim split ends, not _cutting my hair short_ -"  
  
"Sören, calm down," Trisha said, her reaction completely neutral - like this was a courtroom and she was keeping herself guarded. "There was a misunderstanding, was all."  
  
"Was there?" And Sören felt it, then - _this_ was why his gut told him this entire thing was a bad idea. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was what Trisha had been planning on, there was no misunderstanding, no accident.  
  
"We'll... we'll fix this," Trisha said, eyes widening as if she knew that Sören knew, that he'd seen through bullshit.  
  
"No, we fucking can't." Sören looked at himself in the mirror. "There's no way I'll be able to... to disguise the unevenness with a different hairstyle and I'm not in the habit of wearing hats or scarves constantly, not that I can wear that at work anyway, and I don't wear protective headgear constantly..." Sören pinched the bridge of his nose and made noises.  
  
"Should I stop, _monsieur_?" Jean-Yves was glaring at Trisha now too.  
  
"If you stop it's just..." Sören buried his face in his hands and sighed. "Gonna be that big piece looking all... fucky... and I have the show coming up and I need to look professional..." He took his face out of his hands and blinked back tears. He would not, would not _would not_ give Trisha the satisfaction of crying in front of her, if she had done this to bully him.  
  
"I weel do mah best to make eet look nice, _monsieur_." With that, Jean-Yves resumed combing and cutting.  
  
_It already was nice, I liked my hair and you fucking ruined it. It'll take months, maybe even a year, to get it back the way it was._  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören fought back tears all the way home, his face on fire, feeling like a limb had been cut off, feeling like he'd been stripped naked in public and forced to march through the streets. He felt intensely _vulnerable_ with his new short hair...  
  
...short hair that he hadn't signed up for.  
  
He felt like he'd been violated. It wasn't the same as when he'd been raped in Iceland, but something had still been done to his body without his consent, and he still couldn't shake the feeling that it had been done deliberately, that Trisha had done this to fuck with him. He felt like that bullied kid he once was all over again, and he hated that he was feeling like this as an adult, when he had much more power and control over his life than he did back then. It was a helpless feeling; it was a terrifying feeling.  
  
Trisha and Vincente kept trying to give him assurances that his new haircut looked nice on the way back home. "You've still got your curls," Trisha said. "Look on the bright side, it'll be easier to take care of now -"  
  
Sören had enough of her. He finally exploded. "Shut up," he hissed.  
  
Trisha blinked in the rear-view mirror. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
"You. Fucking. Heard. Me. Shut up. _Shut up._ SHUT UP!" Sören clenched his fists, and restrained the urge to take the Armani bag in the back seat and throw it at Trisha. _I do not hit women._  
  
They were only a few blocks away from Sören and Anthony's flat, and Sören grabbed the Armani bag and ducked out of the car, into traffic, narrowly missing an oncoming car, making a mad dash for the sidewalk, heart pounding as the driver beeped at him and screamed out the window. Sören kept running, asthma be damned, not wanting Trisha and Vincente to drive by and try to get in another apology, more meaningless words.  
  
Sören finally slowed as his flat came in sight, reaching for the inhaler in his pants pocket. Anthony's Audi wasn't there yet, and Sören didn't know whether to be relieved or not.  
  
He took a moment to rest his lungs before marching himself upstairs, and on the flight of stairs he broke down crying, weeping hysterically as he put his keys in the door. Though he'd been craving a shower to wash off the miasma of being around those two, now he just collapsed on the couch, huddling in the fetal position, crying so hard he was screaming.  
  
Sören's sobbing quieted, but his tears still flowed silently, when he heard Anthony's car pull in. Then Sören started weeping again, and he heard Anthony call "Sören?" from the stairwell and heard his brogues lope up the stairs, running as if he were concerned it was an emergency. Sören tried to pull himself together, not wanting to cause alarm, but when the door opened Anthony froze and his jaw dropped as soon as he saw Sören.  
  
"Oh my god." Anthony blinked slowly, the shock on his face obvious.  
  
"Don't look at me," Sören said, looking away, hot shame searing him.  
  
"Sören. Oh my god, Sören, _elskan._" It was the first time Anthony had ever called Sören an endearment in Icelandic, and normally under any other circumstance Sören would celebrate the occasion but Sören knew it slipped out because Anthony was sharing the horror, desperately clutching at something, anything that would comfort him. Anthony went right to him, knelt beside him on the couch, and tried to gently pull Sören into his arms.  
  
Sören shoved him away. "Don't touch me, don't look at me, just..."  
  
"Sören. Please." Anthony stroked Sören's face, a waver in his voice.  
  
"It looks horrible. I look..." Sören made a vague hand gesture. "I..." He couldn't even find words.  
  
"This..." Anthony took a deep breath. "This explains the text Trisha sent me."  
  
"What exactly did she say?"  
  
"She called you a psycho," Anthony said bluntly.  
  
"Well... she convinced me that guy was just going to trim my split ends, not hack off a huge chunk of my hair." Sören was livid. He tugged on what was left of his curls. "I didn't ask for this -"  
  
"No. I know." There were tears in Anthony's eyes. "I... I'm so sorry." He pet Sören's curls. "It'll grow back..."  
  
"It'll take months to grow back, Anthony. It may not be all the way grown back by our wedding. And I have to _live with this_ in the meantime, look at it every fucking day..."  
  
"I'll miss your hair," Anthony said, nodding, and Sören was relieved that Anthony was with him on the side of keeping his hair long - Anthony really _didn't_ want to try to "tame" him, and Sören desperately needed that reassurance right now. But another wave of shame flooded Sören, because if Anthony liked him better with the long hair, that meant Anthony was going to be less attracted to him with the short hair, and...  
  
Sören started to sob.  
  
"Oh, honey." Anthony continued petting Sören's curls, stroking his face. He pulled Sören into his arms again and this time Sören didn't push him away. Anthony rubbed his nose in Sören's curls and rested his nose there for a moment, breathing in the scent of the shampoo, before he kissed the top of Sören's head. Then he took Sören's chin in his hand, thumb stroking the beard, and looked into Sören's eyes. "You're still beautiful to me, Brown Eyes."  
  
Sören tried to manage a smile, but it didn't come. More tears came instead. More tears, more hot anger, sharp as a knife. "Trisha had some nerve, calling me psycho."  
  
"She said you ran out of the car into traffic -"  
  
Sören exhaled sharply. "You think I wanted to spend another second in that car with them after _what they did_?"  
  
Anthony blinked and his eyes widened as if he were in shock. "Sören, are you..." He shook his head.  
  
"Am I accusing Trisha? You're damn right I am. I don't buy it for a second that there was a 'misunderstanding' with what this Jean-Yves guy was supposed to do, or he wouldn't be in business long. She did this _deliberately_, and she did it to be a fucking bully. I had a bad feeling about her offer of 'friendship', because Trisha is like every mean arsehole I went to school with who pretended they wanted to be my friend just so they could get dirt on me to make fun of me to their friends later. She did this to hurt me, and she did this to hurt _us, to try to drive a wedge between us_ -"  
  
"Sören." Anthony glared. "I've known Trisha _for years_ and I don't think she's the type to do something like this..."  
  
"For a barrister who deals with guilty people all the time you sure as fuck are blind to what's going on right in front of you," Sören snapped.  
  
Anthony recoiled, looking stung, and Sören knew he'd crossed a line. _I'd cross it again. Fucking idiot._  
  
Anthony got up, and Sören expected him to storm off, maybe leave the flat altogether, but instead he quietly, calmly went over to the kitchen and began puttering around.  
  
"What... what are you doing?" Sören asked.  
  
"I'm making _fucking tea._"  
  
_You are so British it hurts._ And then it came out before Sören could stop himself. "Hi Making Fucking Tea, I'm Sören -"  
  
Anthony leaned against the fridge, half-laughing, half-crying. "Dammit, Sören." He wiped his eyes.  
  
A moment passed and Sören grasped at levity again. "So, fucking tea. Is that some kind of aphrodisiac..."  
  
Anthony snorted. "I wish." Then he glanced back over at Sören, his eyes too bright.  
  
"I'm not going to apologize for what I said about Trisha," Sören said, setting his jaw, folding his arms. "I get it that she's _your friend_ and you've known each other for years. That still doesn't make what happened OK. I'd love to be wrong about all of this, I'd love for it to all be a misunderstanding. But it doesn't _feel_ like a misunder -"  
  
Anthony put up a hand, cutting him off. He cleared his throat and then he put his hands behind his back, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I'll talk to Trisha and Vincente," Anthony said. "I'm willing to mediate so they can explain their side of things, and you can calmly explain yours..."  
  
"Oh for fuck's sake, could you stop being a lawyer for five fucking minutes?"  
  
Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose, and then he gave Sören a stern look. "I'm trying to fix this. I'm trying to de-escalate things and keep them from getting worse -"  
  
"There is no fixing this. This is worse." Sören tugged on his short curls. "I don't need a barrister right now, I need you to be my fucking _partner_."  
  
Anthony sighed. When the tea was ready he came back with it, and after they had a few sips Anthony pulled Sören back into his arms and held him tight, rocking him.  
  
After they finished their tea Sören shuffled off to the bathroom and got in the shower, as hot as he could stand it. He didn't lock the bathroom door and a moment later Anthony was there, naked, and stepped into the shower with him. For a moment they just stood there looking at each other and then Sören was in Anthony's arms again, and Anthony held him, rocked him as the scalding water beat down on them. Sören started to sob on his shoulder.  
  
"Let it out," Anthony soothed, rubbing Sören's head, his back. "Let it out, sweetheart. I'm right here."  
  
They went to bed after the shower and brushing their teeth, just holding each other. Sören felt drained - too exhausted to do anything other than lay there in Anthony's arms, but too upset for his mind to shut off and sleep yet. Anthony felt him still awake a little while later and he made tender noises, skritching Sören's beard like he was a cat.  
  
"I hate this," Sören mumbled.  
  
"I know." Anthony kissed the top of Sören's head. He sighed and rubbed his nose in Sören's curls. "Trisha hadn't explained why you'd run out of the car, I had no context for what was going on until I saw you -"  
  
"It looks shitty."  
  
"I like your long hair better, honestly, but... like I said, you're still beautiful. It isn't _bad_, just different."  
  
"It's different bad. I hate it. I fucking. Hate. It."  
  
Anthony kissed Sören's brow. "Well, your hair isn't the only reason why I'm attracted to you. And it's not just physical, either. It's here." He put his hand on Sören's heart. "You've got a beautiful heart, Sören. A beautiful soul. _That_ is what I love about you, more than anything else. You're still you on the inside."  
  
Sören needed to grasp at levity again... and he ached to get out of his head, go someplace better for awhile. There was one thing that was particularly good at accomplishing that. "You speak with such authority, like you know that for a fact."  
  
"I do."  
  
"I don't know about that. I think my insides might warrant further investigation."  
  
"Mmmmm." Anthony chuckled, and nibbled on Sören's lower lip, reaching around to grab his ass. "Yes, I think you might be right."  
  
Sören smiled before he grabbed Anthony's face and pulled him into a kiss, and Anthony rolled Sören onto his back, Sören melting at the love in his eyes before Anthony kissed him back, pulling down Sören's pajama bottoms and grasping the stiffening cock.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören and Anthony are on the beach, holding each other. Sören basks in the warm glow of the day, the smell of the salt air, the _peace_ here at the ocean, the endless sky above them. Most of all he basks in the safety of Anthony's arms, the respite, not wanting to go back home to the wife who has long since fallen out of love with him, no time or cares to give him anymore. His bed is cold when his brothers aren't in it.  
  
"I love you," Anthony says, seeming to pick up on Sören's prickle of loneliness, the aching need in him.  
  
"And I love you, my brother."  
  
Anthony plays with a strand of Sören's knee-length black hair. "And I love your hair." A smile quirks his lips. "I wish I had dark hair like you and our brother."  
  
"Oh no." Now Sören reaches out to play with Anthony's long hair, enchanted by the way it shifts in the light, silver then gold, like the flash of an iridescent stone. Like the way the sky shifts at certain times of day. "You have the most beautiful hair. It's enchanting."  
  
"If you say so. I still like your hair better."  
  
And Sören sees it then in his mind's eye - a tribute to the brothers he loves. Anthony's hair, and their other brother's eyes. The spark of creation crackles inside him, and the fire begins to consume him, needing to bring this to life. Needing to show them. _This is how I feel about you. This is how you inspire me, my beauty._  
  
Sören knows the gods will be interested in his work - his great work, his work of works. They will want to ask what the masterpiece is made of, when it is time to show the world. So as much as Sören wants to take a lock of Anthony's hair as one of the components, he knows it will be too blatant - there is no way he can mention that without the obvious love on his face, in his eyes, without the gods sensing it, the forbidden passion. That won't do at all.  
  
Instead Sören takes a lock of hair from Anthony's daughter, with hair so like her father's. They are not happy about it - she knows about the sin between them and she is against it, and he resents that she is a living reminder of the marriage Anthony was forced into, no love between Anthony who prefers men and his wife who prefers women; it was Sören who made Anthony spill his seed for her conception, one of the handmaidens taking it to his wife for her female lover to guide into her. But it is what it is, and Sören pays her for the theft of the lock of her hair with a necklace. _Hate me you might, but you at least love and appreciate my work, which is more than I can say for that wife of mine._  
  
More than any other project, this one drives him close to madness. He can feel it take a piece of his soul, but that is all the better, because this is love.  
  
Anthony is delighted when he sees the finished product - before the rest of the world gets to see it, Sören's brothers do - but he also laughs, "I still wish I looked more like you and brother."  
  
Eons later, Anthony is reborn with black hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very close to what Sören looks like with short hair:
> 
>   
  

> 
> (By the time we see him in _After the Rain_ and _Warm In December_, his hair has grown back.) 


	34. Burn

It was Friday, March fifteenth, a week before Sören's show at Blue Moon in Bermondsey. He had been at work since seven AM and it was now eleven PM and he was finally going home. It had been one of those days where most of the day was spent in a single surgical procedure, so he was more exhausted than usual. Anthony had been to see him on his break hours ago, coming straight from work to give him coffee and hugs, and now hours later Anthony had come back, waiting for Sören in the Audi, wanting to drive him home himself. Sören mumbled a greeting as he climbed in the car and gave Anthony a tired kiss on the cheek.  
  
"Here." Anthony handed Sören a bag of food, still hot. "I hit a drive-thru on the way here, I know it's not the healthiest thing in the world but it was open this late -"  
  
"No, god, I'm fucking starving, I don't care." Sören tore the bag open and grinned at the chicken sandwiches inside. "Oh my god yes, you know what I like."  
  
"Also, I'm breaking my no-eating-in-the-car rule, go ahead."  
  
Sören reached over and touched Anthony's face, who gave him a tired smile. "You take such good care of me."  
  
"I try."  
  
"I love you."  
  
"I love you too."  
  
Sören wolfed the chicken sandwiches and fries down, absolutely famished from the long day. Every now and again Anthony stole glances at him, and Sören felt a little sheepish at the way he was devouring the food, but then Anthony just grinned when Sören had fries hanging out of his mouth and said, "You're cute."  
  
"I am not cute," Sören said through a mouthful of fries.  
  
"Yes you are." Anthony reached over to tousle Sören's curls.  
  
Sören sighed - as much as he enjoyed Anthony's touch, having his hair touched right now was a painful reminder of the haircut a week ago. He still wasn't over it - it was not something one could just get over - and it didn't help that he was still, a week later, getting questions and comments from colleagues and returning patients. Any time any of them told him "it looks better", it took Sören every ounce of restraint he had not to scream back "_It fucking does not_." He was tired of being constantly reminded of his shorn hair, and though he knew Anthony was just petting him affectionately, instinctively, nonetheless Sören held back the urge to recoil from the hand on his head, not wanting to offend Anthony by shrinking from his touch. Anthony could touch him anywhere else and it would be more than fine. But the hair...  
  
To make matters worse, he and Anthony were going to breakfast with Trisha and Vincente at nine AM on Saturday morning, Anthony's decision as he wanted to try to mediate. Sören was not interested in hearing whatever sorry excuses they had, and he was a little annoyed that Anthony was insisting on an intervention, but he was too tired to argue his way out of it. And he knew that Anthony meant well - he really wanted everyone to just get along and be friends. Sören knew it was that hurt little boy part of Anthony that didn't have friends growing up and had them now and desperately wanted to hang onto them, and he ached for that hurt part of him and didn't want to cause him even more hurt. But Sören was dreading tomorrow morning, and that, too, was contributing to his exhaustion. He was _done_ with Trisha and Vincente, and yet he couldn't be done. He had to go into work Saturday afternoon and he couldn't sleep in or relax on his morning off, he had to spend it putting out a trash fire.  
  
Anthony wisely did not bring up the next morning's meeting on the way home, letting Sören eat in peace, and then zone out in the car after he was done eating. Anthony shook him gently when he pulled into the parking stall at their flat, and Sören leaned on him on the way upstairs, every step leaden with exhaustion. Sören took a quick shower to decontaminate, and after they put on pajamas and brushed their teeth they climbed into bed together, Sören too tired to do anything but lay in Anthony's arms and fade. Before Sören could go too far under, Sören felt a little pang of guilt, hoping Anthony wasn't too sexually frustrated. But then Anthony's arms tightened around him and Sören felt a gentle kiss on his brow. "Sleep, love," Anthony said, rubbing his back, and soothed by his touch - and the assurance that Anthony understood he needed his rest - Sören passed out minutes later.  
  
Sören was woken up to another gentle kiss on his brow, and when he smiled he felt kisses fluttering over his face, making him wrinkle his nose and giggle. He opened his eyes to see Anthony, already fully dressed in a steel blue cashmere sweater and dark indigo jeans, sitting on the edge of the bed. Anthony reached over to the bedtable, picked up a mug of coffee, and passed it over to Sören, who accepted it with a mumbled "_takk_" and inhaled deeply before drinking. Sören glanced over the rim of the mug and saw it was five minutes before eight.  
  
Anthony had let Sören sleep until the last possible minute, and when he finished his coffee Sören scrambled to get ready. Even though it was clear Trisha and Vincente were judgmental of appearance, Sören wasn't going to go out of his way to get somewhat dressed up for them, and indeed, wearing jeans and a T-shirt felt like an act of defiance in the face of their judgment. He put on faded jeans and his Joy Division shirt over a long-sleeved black T-shirt, and cringed when he looked at himself in the mirror and saw his short hair. He still wasn't used to it.  
  
Sören had a thermos of coffee in the car on the way to the restaurant - even though they'd be ordering coffee with breakfast, Sören was not a morning person and he was still exhausted from yesterday. Anthony was quiet on the way to the restaurant, letting Sören wake up, but he kept looking over at Sören and noticed him tensing, as Sören was not in the mood to deal with two of his least favorite people, and especially not first thing in the morning. And as they approached the restaurant, Anthony reached over and put a hand on Sören's knee, strong and reassuring. Sören covered Anthony's hand with his, rubbing and patting it.  
  
"I love you," Anthony said softly.  
  
"I love you too."  
  
The restaurant was a quaint little gingerbread house cottage with climbing roses on the roof that would bloom later in the month, and a garden with a pagoda out back and tables for those who wanted to eat al fresco, but it was too chilly on this March morning. Trisha and Vincente were already at a table when they got there, and Anthony pulled out a chair for Sören before taking his own seat. The furniture was all wood and the tables were set with baskets of fresh flowers and Sören saw some of the patrons eating on floral china. Sören thought the restaurant was a bit twee but he was also relieved that it didn't seem ridiculously upscale and he wasn't getting any dirty looks for showing up in a T-shirt and jeans, and he wondered if Anthony had negotiated the meeting place beforehand.  
  
Sören immediately grabbed a menu and hid his face in it, not wanting to even look at the couple seated across from him, and he decided he was going to have a big stack of pancakes. There was an awkward silence, and after the waitress came to take their order and their menus the silence was even more awkward, with the four just looking at each other and their coffee cups.  
  
Finally Anthony broke the silence. "So... you all know why you're here."  
  
"Yes." Vincente cleared his throat, and then he put out his hand to Sören. "Sören, I'm really sorry about what happened when we took you out."  
  
Sören didn't take his hand, and after a minute Vincente withdrew it, looking uncomfortable. Sören raised an eyebrow. "Are you?"  
  
Trisha frowned. "Look, Sören. I'm sorry that you feel like we did this intentionally -"  
  
Sören noticed that was a non-apology - _I'm sorry you feel that way_ rather than an admission of wrongdoing. He pursed his lips, restraining the urge to come back at her right away.  
  
"- but really, truly, we want to be friends." Trisha gave a thin smile that did not meet her eyes, and Sören wondered how many times Trisha had given that same smile in court or in chambers with clients or opposing counsel. "We'd like a second chance, if you're willing to give it."  
  
"I dunno." Sören sipped his coffee.  
  
Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose and he gave Sören a pleading look. "Sören, they apologized. Could you... give them another chance?"  
  
"Do you see this?" Sören tugged on his short curls. "Do you understand how upsetting this is to me?"  
  
"And it was an accident," Anthony said; Trisha and Vincente nodded solemnly.  
  
_I'm sure you've said that about people you've defended in court who were guilty as fuck, too._ Sören sipped more coffee. He didn't like that Anthony was trying to defend them to his own partner; Sören felt like it was minimizing his pain, somehow. _Like his friends' need to not be the bad guy in this is greater than my need to not have to put up with people who make me uncomfortable._  
  
"I can't give you your hair back," Trisha said, "but maybe we could treat you to lunch or dinner sometime."  
  
Vincente nodded again. "Before this little incident happened -"  
  
Sören's eyes widened and he felt himself giving them a death glare. He put his coffee down on the table and his fists clenched. _Little incident?_ But before he could scream, Anthony made a "wait" gesture and then reached for Sören's hand under the table.  
  
"- Trisha and I were talking about inviting you guys to go on some double dates with us," Vincente went on.  
  
"Oh yes. We belong to a steampunk club that meets once a month and it is _so_ much fun, you should really join us sometime," Trisha said.  
  
Steampunk wasn't really Sören's thing, and in over a year of being with Anthony he'd never seen Anthony express interest in it either, but it was out of the ordinary enough that it disarmed Sören for a moment - not something people talked about every day in his presence, and it made Sören wonder if maybe there was more depth to Trisha and Vincente than he'd given them credit for. "Steampunk, huh?" Sören picked up his coffee again.  
  
"Of course, going to the meetings involves getting in costume, but we'd be happy to help with costuming, if Anthony doesn't already have appropriate suits in his wardrobe."  
  
_More showing off with clothes._ Sören fought an eyeroll.  
  
"But it's not just about the clothes," Trisha said, as if she somehow could tell how Sören was reacting internally. "I adore Jules Verne, the _His Dark Materials_ series by Philip Pullman, books by Michael Moorcock, all of that."  
  
Sören tried not to guffaw at the surname "Moorcock" and he glanced over at Anthony, who swallowed his coffee hard. They exchanged glances, both trying to keep straight faces, but Anthony's eyes were laughing. Then Sören's attention turned back to being surprised Trisha actually read, _but then she'd mentioned being in theatre in public school._ "You like to read, já?"  
  
"Yes, though my preference is really for modern authors who write steampunk _or_ literature from the Regency Era or the Victorian period. Like think Jane Austen..."  
  
Sören fought another eyeroll at the mention of Jane Austen, having tried to read her years ago and finding her stories incredibly boring as well as classist in a way that turned his stomach. He decided to be polite and focus on what he liked rather than criticize what he didn't but someone else did like. "I like the Brontë sisters. _Jane Eyre_ is one of my favorite books."  
  
"Oh, that. I never cared for _Jane Eyre_, myself."  
  
_No, you wouldn't._ Sören sipped his coffee.  
  
The waitress came with their meals - a fruit plate for Trisha, a full English breakfast for Vincente, a cheese omelette with rye toast and hash browns for Anthony, and a stack of pancakes and side of bacon for Sören.  
  
"The history of that time period is also really interesting," Trisha said before she nibbled on a forkful of melon.  
  
Sören couldn't completely hate someone who liked history, much as he wanted to hate her. He wondered if he had misjudged her as a snob, and if she was in fact actually as much of a nerd as Anthony was in private and that might be why they'd been friends all this time. Sören felt a small prickle of guilt, but he was still wary, not entirely convinced yet that Trisha was telling the truth that the haircut had been accidental rather than malicious.  
  
"All of the events around the world, the intrigues of famous people who shaped the culture of the 19th century, and the scientific advancements," Trisha said, waving a forkful of banana slices back and forth like she was a conductor with an orchestra. "And little details too, like the language of flowers that people used to communicate discretely in courtship and friendship..."  
  
That was an obscure piece of information - Sören wasn't aware anything like that had even existed, so he was now a little impressed that he'd learned something new.  
  
"I'm rambling, sorry." Trisha shoved banana in her mouth.  
  
"No, it's all right," Sören said. "That's... wow. I didn't think..."  
  
"No, no one thinks the rich blonde bimbo would have academic interests." Trisha scowled.  
  
And then Sören felt even more guilty, like he had in fact misjudged her. There was still a red flag in the back of his head, _don't trust it, she studies people for a living and she figured out how to play you,_ and the non-apology at the beginning of the conversation still rang in his ears, but the wistful puppydog look on Anthony's face - the hurt little boy part of him that just wanted everyone to be friends - made Sören reach under the table and squeeze Anthony's knee, and then he sighed and said, "All right. A second chance."  
  
"Thank you, Sören," Vincente said, smiling.  
  
"Yes, thank you." Trisha met his eyes, but hers were cold, watchful. "We really appreciate it."  
  
Anthony squeezed Sören's knee back, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Once again Sören got off work at eleven PM, and Anthony was there to pick him up, with a bag of food. Sören ate in the car and Anthony kept silent, letting Sören eat and decompress, but when they were halfway home, Anthony finally broke the silence.  
  
"Thank you for..." Anthony's voice trailed off and he looked back at the road, swallowing hard. "You know."  
  
"Being willing to give them a second chance?"  
  
Anthony nodded. "Yeah."  
  
Sören sighed. He wasn't entirely happy about it - he was still wary of them, and he was still vaguely displeased with Anthony for interfering - but then he thought of the puppydog look Anthony gave him in the restaurant, and what he knew of the lonely, hurt boy who just wanted friends, and was so needy for friendship that he was willing to accept the crumbs of shallow people. He leaned over and kissed Anthony's cheek. "I did it because I love you." That answer was as true as any.  
  
"Well, I love you, a lot." Then Anthony's brow furrowed with concern. "You look exhausted, darling."  
  
"God." Sören facepalmed, and rubbed his face, even though he still felt unclean from work, despite frequent handwashing. "I mean, I worked less hours today, but it's doubling up from the long day yesterday, and not being able to sleep in..." Now it was Sören's turn for his voice to trail off, not wanting Anthony to feel bad about this morning's breakfast. But then he felt a small stab of resentment. _He_ should _feel bad. Yet more of my precious, limited time taken up by having to play nice with_ his _shitty friends._  
  
Anthony looked a little sad, as if he did, in fact, feel guilty. He stroked Sören's face. "We'll be home soon, love, and then you can rest."  
  
Sören felt ready to drop by the time they reached the second floor and the door of their flat - he could remember few times in his life when he'd felt this exhausted, more and more leaden, the energy siphoning out of him with every step. As soon as Anthony opened the door, he picked Sören up off the ground, making Sören squeak and giggle as he carried Sören across the threshold into the flat. He closed the door behind them with his hip, and continued carrying Sören down the hall to the bedroom, where he put Sören on the bed and helped him undress.  
  
Despite the heat in Anthony's eyes as he peeled the scrubs from Sören's body, exposing Sören's naked flesh, Sören was too tired for sex. _Too tired for life,_ Sören thought to himself as he stumbled off to the shower. When he got back to the bedroom, a towel around his waist, Anthony was in bed waiting for him, bare chest showing under the covers pulled up. Sören quickly pulled on pajama bottoms and climbed in beside him, and Anthony turned out the light. Sören rolled into Anthony's waiting arms and their legs braided, Anthony petting Sören's hair. As much as having his shorn hair touched was still a sore spot for him, Sören knew Anthony was doing it to be comforting - it was force of habit, Anthony was so used to petting him - and tonight Sören was so far gone into his exhaustion that he melted into Anthony's touch, flexing his fingers and toes like a cat kneading, breathing a little sigh as relief flooded his body.  
  
Then Sören felt a prickle of panic - it was yet another night that they weren't making love, and Sören worried about Anthony being sexually frustrated, especially after having undressed him, remembering the lust on Anthony's face just before he got in the shower. Sören felt like he was being selfish, somehow, and if he wasn't so exhausted he would want sex, himself; he never got bored of making love with Anthony. But he was bone-tired, soul-tired, craving sleep like a drug. He had tomorrow off, and maybe sometime tomorrow, before or after they went to Anthony's parents' house...  
  
_I can sleep in tomorrow. Thank fuck._ Sören breathed another sigh of relief, and snuggled closer to Anthony, listening to his heartbeat, comforted by the rhythm of the warm breath on his skin.  
  
"I missed you today," Anthony said softly, tracing lazy hearts on Sören's back.  
  
"I missed you too, _elskan._" Sören gave him a sleepy kiss. "I'm sorry that we're not -"  
  
"You need your rest." Anthony kissed the top of Sören's head and his arms tightened around him. He began to rock Sören, gently. "It's all right, sweetheart. Go to sleep."  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören is at the hairdresser's again and Jean-Yves hacks off a chunk of his hair. But it feels like he's being stabbed with a hot poker, and Sören's hand flies to his head. When it comes back down Sören sees blood on his hand.  
  
Trisha has a whip and it binds around Sören, holding him in place as Jean-Yves cuts and cuts and cuts his hair. Sören screams in pain, in fear, trying to pelt Jean-Yves with his fists, hit him with any objects within reach, at last finding a pair of scissors and stabbing him with it over and over again, to no avail. Jean-Yves's scissors have become a whip of fire. The hair on the floor starts to burn, and soon everything is on fire, Sören himself is on fire, and he can feel himself rising, rising above the flames, even as he is still burning.  
  
_It was just an accident,_ Trisha's voice mocks him. _Just an accident. Just an accident..._  
  
Sören is standing on a cliff now, looking out at ships, ships of people who have spoken against him, false friends. Traitors. "Burn them all."  
  
He watches the ships burn, like a Viking funeral.  
  
  
_  
  
  
"Sören. _Sören._"  
  
Sören's eyes flew open with a gasp. He was drenched in sweat, almost unbearably hot. The sheets were tangled and Sören's heart was racing, hammering in his ears.  
  
"Sören. Honey. You were having a nightmare." Anthony reached out to pet him, and kissed his brow.  
  
"Oh god." Sören felt himself tearing up, and immediately got angry with himself for doing so. _I will not cry for these fuckers._ But there it was, he couldn't hold back the tears. _I'm going to lose Anthony. I'm going to lose Anthony because of_ them. _Things are going to fall apart..._  
  
And a truth dropping like a hammer on an anvil. _He went away before. He took the first of the traitors._ Sören could see the nightmare replaying in his mind's eye, the remnant of traitors that had not gone with Anthony when he left, and he had lost his wife, he had lost Anthony, now his other brother-lover was being an ass and he could feel the madness rising in him, something in him snapping. _Burn them all. Burn them all..._  
  
"Sweetheart." Anthony spoke softly, as was his wont. "What did you dream about? Maybe talking about it will help."  
  
"Oh god." Sören sobbed louder, _ugly_ crying, making him cry all the harder for how he knew it looked, so embarrassed. And he was getting angrier and angrier with himself, furious with himself for crying about Trisha, furious with his brain for not letting him sleep through a night when he desperately needed it - he looked at the clock and it was 3:17 in the morning. "Oh god. Oh god. Oh god..."  
  
"I mean, you don't have to. But..."  
  
Sören took a few deep breaths. "I dreamt I was burning to death. It's... it's a recurring nightmare I've had, since I was four." That was not a lie; what was different this time was burning up in the hair salon, his curls tinder for the flames.  
  
"Oh no." Anthony frowned with concern and compassion.  
  
"And it was my hair on fire, this time." Sören wasn't going to tell him about the flash into the past - or what felt like the past, anyway - with the burning ships. "It -"  
  
"Oh _god._" Anthony pulled Sören close and wrapped his arms around Sören, holding him tight, tight, rocking him. Sören felt Anthony shaking with silent tears, and Sören felt like screaming at him _You know how much this is upsetting me. Why did you push me to give them a second chance? Why couldn't you have left well enough alone? I'm your partner, you should be on MY side._  
  
But he didn't. Sören remembered his words in the car: _I did it because I love you._ He thought about the boy who was chased up into the tree, fell out and broke his femur, could have broken his neck or his spine or even died. He found himself tracing the scar on Anthony's left thigh with his thumb, knowing exactly where it was even in the dark. _I did it because I love you. Because I love you._ In his mind's eye Sören saw a small boy with long silver-gold hair, running excitedly to hug him, scooped off the ground and spun around, carried piggyback. Then the boy as a beautiful man, leonine, fierce, giving him a passionate embrace. _It has always been you,_ the blond man said.  
  
Sören swallowed hard, tears sliding down his cheeks.  
  
"Sören, you know that I... I still love you even with your hair short, right?" Anthony kissed Sören's tears. He took Sören's chin in his hand and looked into his eyes, his own too bright. "And I still want you."  
  
Sören snuffled, feeling his jaw tremble. "I still feel..." He closed his eyes and opened them, eyes rolling up, not wanting to look at the love and compassion in Anthony's eyes; it hurt too much. "Not me. Like when they did that -"  
  
"When the hairdresser did that."  
  
Sören now looked into Anthony's eyes and glared. His nostrils flared. But he was too tired to argue that he still couldn't shake the feeling that despite Trisha's apology - which had really been a non-apology - it was still an act of malice on Trisha's part. "Like they cut off a limb or, I don't know, a piece of myself. I know that sounds daft, but..."  
  
"You're an artist and your hair is part of how you express yourself," Anthony said, nodding.  
  
_Why is it you get me so fucking well, better than anyone else has ever gotten me, and yet you're too fucking blind to see what's going on here._  
  
"I just... I hate it." Sören rubbed his head, grimacing at the feel of the short curls. "I know it's such a stupid thing to be upset about _this much_ with all the tragedy happening in the world..."  
  
"No, Sören, I understand." Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "I wish there was something, _anything_ I could do to make it better."  
  
Sören closed his eyes again and he rolled back into the pillows. He couldn't get back to sleep just yet, he was still too shaken up from the nightmare, but he didn't know what else to do. He felt defeated, like he was fighting some sort of war he didn't even know he'd been dragged into and he'd already lost, somehow.  
  
Sören entered that haze of half-consciousness, too rattled to sleep, but too exhausted to be fully awake. He was vaguely aware of Anthony getting out of bed, leaving a cold, empty place beside him, and Sören made a noise of protest. A few minutes later he heard Anthony walk back in the room, he felt Anthony sit next to him on the bed, and then he heard a "Prrrp?" and felt something hairy or furry hopping on him.  
  
Sören opened his eyes just in time to feel it land on his head, and Anthony grinned at him and gave him a kiss. "There," Anthony said. "George wanted to help."  
  
It was so delightfully ridiculous that Sören threw his arms around Anthony and had a gigglefit, Anthony laughing too. Anthony pet George and said, "That's a good George," and Sören laughed even harder, tearing up and snorting.  
  
"George felt bad for you, didn't you, George?" Anthony asked, and he reached up and lifted up the wig a little, making it nod, and then Anthony made the wig hop down onto Sören's shoulder and headbutt Sören like a cat. "_Meow,_" Anthony said. "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..."  
  
Sören doubled over, wheezing, his sides hurting, his face hurting. "Oh my god. Anthony. _Anthony._ Anthony _please_..."  
  
Anthony laughed with him, and then Sören's laughter turned into crying again, overcome by feeling touched that Anthony wanted to cheer him up like this. He felt guilty for being angry with him. _He's a good man. He's_ my _good man. I love him so much..._  
  
"Hey," Anthony said, stroking Sören's face. "_Hey._"  
  
Anthony put George back on Sören's head, making Sören giggle again before he cried some more. Anthony kissed Sören's tears, and then his mouth, and tasting the salt of his tears on Anthony's lips made Sören cry harder, the feeling of loving and being loved, _accepted_...  
  
"Shhhhhh, it's OK," Anthony soothed. "It's all right. It's going to be all right." Anthony kissed him again.  
  
Sören found himself kissing Anthony back, hungry, felt himself arching to him as his cock stirred, nipples aching.  
  
When Anthony pulled back he looked at Sören in the glow of the nightlight - Sören could feel his own mouth open, breathing harder, could feel his eyes wide - and Anthony gave Sören a look like he wanted to eat him alive before grabbing his face in his hands and kissing him again with fire and fury. Sören moaned into the kiss and Anthony gave a deep groan, and when their mouths pulled apart Sören felt Anthony's hard cock against his thigh and gave a little whimper, hating that he was so tired and yet so needy.  
  
Anthony started kissing Sören's neck, knowing that was one of Sören's weak spots, nibbling when he felt Sören quiver. Anthony reached down to palm the hard bulge in Sören's pajama pants, and after he licked Sören's neck he took out Sören's cock and began playing with it, kissing Sören's neck some more.  
  
"I know what you need," Anthony husked. "Let me give you what you need. Let me take you to a better place for awhile."  
  
"Please," Sören whispered.  
  
Their mouths met again, the kiss deep and fierce. They kissed and kissed, and then Anthony's kisses trailed along Sören's jaw, back to his neck. Kissing, nibbling, licking, making Sören pant and whimper and tremble, at last digging his nails into Anthony's hips. "_Please_," Sören repeated.  
  
Anthony smiled just before he licked and nibbled at Sören's collarbone. Then he kissed his way down to Sören's nipples and feasted, licking around and around a nipple, lashing his tongue, suckling hard, then teasing with light, slow strokes before tugging the ring with his teeth and sucking some more. He went back and forth, over and over again, until Sören's nipples were peaked, swollen, glistening, and his cock was dripping precum. Anthony slid down, kissing lower, kissing, licking and nibbling Sören's stomach, and then a thigh.  
  
He finally took Sören's cock into his mouth, meeting Sören's eyes as he swallowed it down inch by inch. When Sören was buried in Anthony's throat he gasped, shuddering, and clutched Anthony's head.  
  
"Mmmmmmmm." Anthony let the cock glide in and out of his mouth, working his tongue as he sucked, kissing it. "Mmmmmmhmmmmm."  
  
"Oh god." It felt incredible; Sören arched to him again, panting, shivering as he broke out into gooseflesh. He heard himself whimper.  
  
Anthony sucked him slowly, teasing his cock, Sören getting more and more lost in the sweet surrender, all of his pain and anxiety temporarily forgotten and replaced by pleasure. Soon Sören was writhing, his cries getting louder, hips rolling, gently fucking Anthony's mouth. Then Anthony sucked him harder, faster, growling as he sucked, like he was devouring Sören, starving for him. Sören's keening whimpers became shuddery gasps, not able to make words, not able to make sounds at all, the only thing that existed was the feel of Anthony's mouth around him, Anthony's passion for him, taking away his pain, fighting the fire of his nightmares with the fire of their love.  
  
Sören got closer, closer, his body desperate for release, but also wanting to stay lost in this ecstasy for as long as possible, nothing better. He felt his balls tightening, the tension coiling in him, winding and winding deeper and higher. His thighs were quivering, foot thumping as he edged closer.  
  
Anthony took Sören's cock out of his mouth, gave him a knowing look, and took a long lick from the head down the shaft to the root, and back up again. He traced the veins in Sören's cock with his tongue as Sören gasped, shaking, and then he licked around and around the head. Chased drops of precum down the shaft with his tongue, and swirled his tongue around the head some more. He licked at Sören's foreskin, fluttered and rubbed his tongue on the sensitive frenulum as he cupped and rolled Sören's balls in his hand. Sören grabbed the headboard, whimpering again, keening, sobbing with frustrated bliss, going out of his mind with pleasure so intense it almost hurt.  
  
"So fucking hot," Anthony whispered before he licked around the head of Sören's cock again, licked up and down like he was enjoying an ice cream cone. There was a teasing, amused look on his face, such naughty innocence that Sören had the urge to just throw him down and pound into him. But then his cock was in Anthony's mouth again, Anthony sucking slow, focusing on the head as his hand rubbed the shaft, and Sören couldn't even think. Just feel.  
  
"Mmmmmmmmm." Their eyes met again, and held. Anthony took Sören's cock out of his mouth, slapped it against his tongue a few times, making streamers with Sören's precum, and after a few more teasing licks he put the head of the cock back in his mouth, sucking, kissing. "Mmmmmmmmmm..."  
  
"Oh god." Sören found his words now, giving a shuddery sigh. "Oh god. Anthony. _Anthony._"  
  
"Mmmmhmmmm." Now Anthony was taking more of Sören's cock in his mouth, the cock sliding in and out again, as Anthony continued to play with Sören's balls. "Mmmmm."  
  
"Ahhhh." Sören lost his words again, trying to find them, and instead babble came out of his mouth. "Ahhh. Raaa. Ara. Ara..."  
  
"Mmmmhmmmm, mmmmm." Anthony sucked harder, faster. Through the haze of rutting fever Sören saw Anthony's left shoulder moving, and realized Anthony was stroking himself as he sucked.  
  
That made Sören even hotter. He grabbed Anthony's head and started fucking his mouth again. "Oh god. Ahhhh." And there it was again, the babble. "Ara. Ara. _Ara._ Ara..."  
  
"Mhmmmm. Mmmmm, mhmmmm." Anthony knew Sören was getting closer, and started sucking him for all he was worth.  
  
The sound of Anthony sucking him sent Sören hurtling towards that edge. Their eyes met again and Sören felt himself _right there_, ready to fly. "Oh god. Oh shit. Oh fuck..." Sören let out a helpless whimper, feeling his cock throbbing, jolting, the pressure starting to release.  
  
"Mmmmmm. _Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,_" Anthony encouraged.  
  
And then Sören let go, screaming. "Oh fuck, _Anthony!_ Ahhhh!" A tortured sob of, "Ara, _ara!_ Fuck!"  
  
"Mmmmmmf," Anthony moaned with his mouth full and then Sören saw him shaking, and Anthony let out a deep "mmmmmmmmmm" before he swallowed it down, and then there was the telltale shuddery sigh, the flutter of his eyes, heat in his eyes with his mouth open, lips and chin wet from Sören's seed.  
  
_You are so beautiful when you come._ And Sören was touched by the fact that Anthony loved doing this to him enough that it made him come too.  
  
"There," Anthony said, coming up to kiss Sören, letting him taste himself, and then he gathered Sören back in his arms, rocking him. "How's that?"  
  
"Much better," Sören said, nodding. He giggled and said, "Just what the doctor ordered."  
  
"Mmmm, I'm glad." Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose.  
  
Sören's orgasm was intense enough that the sleepiness started to set in, rather than his body craving another round, more of the delicious pleasure. But he felt something hot and heavy on his head, and then he realized he was still wearing the wig. He grabbed the wig and took it off, and promptly fell into hysterics, laughing so hard he snorted and teared up, his entire body shaking.  
  
"You... you gave me a blowjob while I was wearing your wig," Sören said.  
  
"Oh my god." Anthony facepalmed, realizing what he'd done. "Oh my fucking _god._"  
  
Even in the glow of the nightlight, Sören could tell Anthony was turning beetroot. "Did you... did you not notice?"  
  
"I was paying more attention to your face and your cock," Anthony said, also laughing. "Oh dear god..."  
  
"Wow. _Wow,_ Anthony. What would your colleagues think if -"  
  
"Oh no, don't tell them."  
  
_Like I even have conversations with your fucking friends._ "No, no worries. But... you know." And the flare of anger was replaced by hilarity again. "That's kinky even for us."  
  
Anthony facepalmed again and wheezed, shaking the entire bed with the force of his laughter. "Sören, I swear to god."  
  
Sören put the wig back on his head and started singing the Rick James song. "_He's a very kinky guy, the kind you don't take home to motha... he will never let your spirits down, once you get him off the street._"  
  
"Oh no. _Oh no._"  
  
"_He's a super freak, super freak, he's supah frea-kay, yow._"  
  
"This is even worse with you wearing the wig." Anthony grinned. "Hold on, let me get my phone and take a vid."  
  
Sören cracked up laughing again, and then he mustered the most serious, dignified look on his face when Anthony turned the cell phone camera on him, before Sören launched back into song. "_That boy is pretty wild now, that boy's a super freak. The kind of boy you read about, in legal magazines. That boy is pretty kinky, the boy's a super freak. I'd really like to taste him, every time we meet._" And then Sören belted it out. "_HE'S ALL RIGHT, HE'S ALL RIGHT. HE'S ALL RIGHT WITH ME. Yeah! He's a super freak, super freak, he's supah freak-ay, yow._"  
  
Anthony howled, struggling to keep the camera on Sören as he shook with laughter. Then Sören scowled into the camera and said, "I'm Rick James, bitch."  
  
Anthony buried his face in the pillows, sobbing with laughter.  
  
"Man, FUCK YO COUCH," Sören yelled.  
  
"...This isn't a couch, Sören."  
  
"All right then, FUCK YO BED," Sören said, as Anthony sat up so the camera could get footage of Sören, naked and debauched, still wearing the wig, kicking the bed.  
  
Anthony turned off the phone and collapsed onto Sören, cry-laughing. "Why are you like this?"  
  
"Because I'm Rick James, bitch." When they calmed down, Sören shrugged. "I don't know, but I should ask _you_ that question since, you know, you're the one who went down like the Titanic with me wearing this here wig."  
  
Anthony shook his head. "What can I say? You're so fucking sexy that you're even hot wearing that ridiculous fucking wig."  
  
"Or maybe you have a secret fetish..."  
  
Anthony gave Sören a death glare and then he was in hysterics again, spluttering as Sören gigglesnorted. Then Sören took the wig off his head and played with it, running his fingers through the curls. "So this is a fucking wig now?"  
  
"You," Anthony said, "are. Terrible."  
  
"_Takk._"  
  
"You. Also need some sleep." Anthony glowered at the clock and then gave Sören a stern look before raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Oh all right. Twist my arm, why don't you." Then Sören yawned loudly, showing how tired he really was.  
  
Anthony yawned too. "Shit."  
  
Anthony put the wig on the bedtable and they tangled up together, legs entwined, holding each other. Anthony rubbed Sören's back, and in the shield wall of Anthony's chest and arms, Sören felt himself relax, safe and at peace with the man he loved. _Maybe things will be OK. I should trust his judgment more._  
  
Sören closed his eyes, gave a deep sigh, and fell back asleep.  
  
  
_  
  
  
The next day when Sören woke up, Anthony wasn't there, and Sören found a handwritten note by the bed.  
  
_I went for a run. (I had to do something physical because you got me all horny again and you looked too peaceful and beautiful sleeping to disturb.)  
  
Back in a bit!_  
  
Sören giggled and scooped up the note from the bedtable, breathing in Anthony's scent before pressing the note to his heart. He tucked it in the box with all of the other love notes from Anthony, and the dried petals from different flower bouquets.  
  
When he came back in the bedroom he saw the wig was still on the bedtable, and he took it out into the kitchen, putting the wig on top of the canister of sugar they used for coffee and tea, waiting to see how long before Anthony would notice.  
  
Anthony got in a little while later, looking sweaty and delicious, and Sören's cock throbbed at the sight of him. But despite Anthony's profession of arousal in the note, he didn't try for sex right away - he got water from the fridge, and started making tea. Sören waited in the living room, looking across at Anthony in the kitchen, and finally Anthony saw it and he facepalmed, leaning against the kitchen counter, laughing.  
  
"I think we need to teach George better habits," Sören said. "We can't have our... um... wig... trying to eat sugar."  
  
Anthony wheezed.  
  
Their romp that afternoon put Sören in a better mood - enough that he was up for some mischief. When he returned to work on Monday morning he knew Anthony didn't have court, so he took the wig with him, and on his afternoon break he took the wig with him to Queen's Square, snapping a photo of George sitting on a low branch of a tree, and texted Anthony with it. _It's George of the Not-Jungle._  
  
Sören snapped some more pictures, taking George to the playground and putting him on a swing, sending George down the slide. He took selfies of himself wearing George, including one of himself giving the V, making a face.  
  
Later that evening when he and Anthony were relaxing, having tea, Sören took out his cell phone. "I have something to show you," Sören said.  
  
"I bet you do." Then Anthony's eyebrows went up at the desktop wallpaper on Sören's cell phone. "Kitty?"  
  
"That's Pusheen!" It was a chubby grey cartoon cat, with stubby paws. "I like Pusheen a lot. And Hello Kitty, but especially Pusheen. That's not what I wanted to show you, though."  
  
"OK." Anthony nodded, and gave a wistful little sigh. "I want a cat."  
  
"So do I." Sören frowned. "It sucks that we work ourselves to death."  
  
"Yeah, it really does." Anthony's brow furrowed. "I'd really like a grey tabby."  
  
"Well, in the meantime we have this pet." Sören showed him the latest gallery of George. "He got some fresh air."  
  
Anthony leaned on Sören, laughing. "Sören..."  
  
"Jæja?"  
  
Anthony took Sören's chin in his hand and gave him a little kiss. "Don't change." He stroked Sören's face, his eyes soft. "You've got a beautiful innocence to you. Between... this silliness... and that cute cartoon cat -"  
  
"Pusheen."  
  
"Pusheen." Anthony nodded, and Sören swore he could see the gears in Anthony's head turning, committing it to memory and reference. Then Anthony's attention was on Sören again. "I see so much darkness in my line of work, and you..." He put his hand on Sören's heart. "You are the light of the world."  
  
Sören sighed, feeling choked up at Anthony's words, deeply touched. And then he spoke the deepest truth he knew, remembering how safe he felt in Anthony's arms on Saturday night, Anthony's fire calling to his own. "You are my light."  
  
And Sören felt a shiver down his spine then, breaking out into gooseflesh... the feeling that he'd said those exact words to Anthony before, in the dream time.  
  
  
_  
  
  
"Jesus Christ, where are they," Anthony grumbled. He pushed up the sleeve of his navy blue suit to check the time on his Rolex. Sören glanced over and saw it was 8:17.  
  
Sören and Anthony weren't the only two people wearing suits at the art show - Anthony had picked out the burgundy suit for Sören - but it was also nowhere near as filled with suits and designer dresses as Trisha had claimed it would be; many of the attendants were in preppy casual clothing like sweaters and chinos, and there were a few people wearing exactly the sort of outfit Sören had originally planned on, leather pants and some sort of poet shirt or peasant blouse. A couple of people dressed like refugees from Adam and the Ants, in highwayman outfits with elaborate makeup. Sören once again felt a prickle of resentment, that he'd been dragged out to get a suit he didn't even need and had lost his hair in the process.  
  
But now he just felt stung, not really able to enjoy the attention given to his art, and hearing the occasional compliment, as the minutes wore on and Jack, Trisha and Vincente were nowhere to be found. Five or ten minutes late, Sören could understand - traffic in London could be awful sometimes, especially on a busy Friday night. But twenty going on thirty minutes...  
  
Underneath his suit, Sören was wearing a black lace thong and the vibrating buttplug. He felt the vibration start inside him, as if Anthony knew Sören was getting wound up and this was his attempt at distracting him.  
  
Then Sören heard a vibration that wasn't the plug. Anthony's eyes widened and he reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. Sören watched as Anthony checked it, and then he frowned. "That was Jack," Anthony said. "He ended up taking a nap after work and waking up late, and he doesn't feel like going out. He sends his apologies."  
  
Sören sighed. He couldn't necessarily blame Jack if he'd had a hard week, and at least Jack was being honest that he didn't feel up to it, which was understandable, though a bit hypocritical, Sören thought with another sting piercing him, considering how many times Sören had been dragged along to spend time with Anthony's friends when he just wanted to relax at home, putting in the kinds of hours he did.  
  
Then Anthony's phone vibrated again. Sören watched Anthony step off to the side, frown intensifying into a scowl as he checked the text messages, and Sören saw him type back. A moment later Anthony was at his side again.  
  
"Trisha has a migraine," Anthony said, "so she won't be coming either."  
  
"Oh, does she." _That's convenient._  
  
"Yeah and Vincente is looking after her." Anthony gave Sören's shoulder a squeeze. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Whatever," Sören mumbled, and then he hoped Anthony didn't hear that.  
  
He truly wanted to give Trisha the benefit of the doubt, he knew that even though Trisha worked Commercial Law her job was still high-stress and now the weather was changing, with winter fading to spring, the trees just starting to bud, so stress or allergies or perhaps both could truly be causing a migraine. But it also seemed a little too convenient, and if the misunderstanding with Jean-Yves and Sören's haircut had in fact been a "misunderstanding" and an act of malice on Trisha's part, then it wasn't wrong to assume she'd be the type of person to snub him on such an important night.  
  
Sören also found himself getting annoyed with himself. _Like I need their fucking support. I'm not their friend, they're Anthony's friends._ He still felt rejected all the same.  
  
Elaine made a beeline for them, beaming. She was wearing a navy blue pantsuit with a white camisole and Sören blinked - the resemblance between Elaine and Anthony was even more obvious now. Elaine took Sören into his arms and kissed both cheeks, European style, and then pulled back with her hands on his shoulders, giving him a warm smile with tears in her eyes.  
  
"I'm so proud of you," Elaine said.  
  
Sören got choked up too, touched by Elaine's pride. _Like the mother I never had._ He didn't want to fall apart in the crowd, feeling even more fragile than usual with the probable-snub from Anthony's friends. "Hi So Proud Of You, I'm -"  
  
Elaine tousled Sören's hair. Then she looked around at the gallery, with Sören's art on display, before turning back to Sören. "Your art looks even more magnificent in full-sized prints, framed and hanging up."  
  
"It really does," Anthony said, putting an arm around Sören. He leaned in to kiss Sören's cheek. "I'm proud of you too," he husked, taking Sören's chin in his fingers and tilting Sören's head to face him, to see the love shining in his eyes.  
  
As much as Sören wanted to be angry with Anthony for having shitty friends and shoving them on him, Sören couldn't be angry with him right now. He could _feel_ Anthony's love, his pride in Sören's work, his joy, celebrating.  
  
And normally, Sören would also be celebrating. Einar had called his work shit, had called him shit, and here he was proving all of that wrong, as people made the rounds of his work on display and marveled at it. "Such attention to detail," one woman breathed, looking awestruck. "Beautiful colors," another man said. "Wow, magical," a woman whispered. "I feel almost like I'm someplace else. It just draws you in, like a portal to another world."  
  
Yet, Sören just felt rejected. He tried to slap that feeling away, to focus on the people admiring his paintings, the people who came to shake his hand and compliment him directly. To focus on the delicious teasing of the plug inside him, the look of lust on Anthony's face when they stole glances at each other. But his thoughts kept coming back to Trisha's "migraine". The injury of the haircut, and now the insult of this. He didn't buy that Trisha had a migraine any more than he bought the haircut had been a "misunderstanding", an "accident", and he was annoyed that Anthony, who was well trained to spot truth from fiction, couldn't see through her bullshit. Or maybe _wouldn't_ see through it, so desperate for friendship that he was willing to turn a blind eye.  
  
_To sacrifice his own partner so he can fucking have a clique._  
  
Something that Sören had never had, himself. He got along fine with his co-workers enough to enjoy eating with them in a group at the hospital, but he didn't mix business and his personal life, much as he liked Colin Traynor's company and would want to be friends if they didn't work together. Sören was used to being alone, even if it was lonely, and he didn't understand this need to be part of a pack, even if Anthony seemed to be their alpha by virtue of being a little older, and having a reputation, being somewhat famous - or infamous - in London's legal community.  
  
The sting of rejection kept coming back to him and kept coming back to him and kept coming back to him until it was getting closer to the end of the show and Sören fought the urge to tear out of there, nervous with all the people around. _I don't belong anywhere._  
  
Sören kept himself together, until at last the show was over and he and Anthony were in the car, heading back to Kingston. Sören started to cry with a mixture of relief and feeling happy he'd had the show and sad over possible/probable rejection. He kept his tears silent, not wanting Anthony to notice, but of course Anthony did notice.  
  
"Love," Anthony said. "Are you all right?"  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
"You're not fine." Anthony gave him that knowing, penetrating look, and Sören felt a frisson down his spine. _This is what he's like in the courtroom. This is why people are afraid of him._ Sören felt like Anthony could see into his soul, all of the wounds and scars exposed, the way he was bleeding out.  
  
"I'm not fine," Sören said honestly.  
  
Sören expected Anthony to press the matter, and he braced himself for an awkward conversation about Trisha and Vincente, possibly even a fight, but Anthony did not ask him to elaborate on why he wasn't fine. Instead, Anthony turned up the vibe to a higher setting. Sören gasped, and moaned as the vibe teased his sensitized prostate, his cock throbbing, dripping precum.  
  
Anthony smirked, that smug little "I own you" expression that Sören found infuriatingly sexy.  
  
Sören's need got stronger and stronger on the ride home, almost unbearable, and by the time they pulled in to the parking stall at their flat, Sören was panting for it, his cock tenting his suit trousers. They made their way up the stairs as quickly as possible, and the moment they stepped into their flat Anthony slammed Sören against the living room wall and kissed him passionately. Sören heard himself whimper into the kiss, his hands reaching out to run over Anthony's chest and back, wanting him so badly he could scream.  
  
Anthony undid Sören's belt, and yanked Sören's trousers and lace thong down, as Sören stepped out of his boots and let the trousers and thong slip to the floor in a haphazard pile. Anthony turned Sören around to remove the plug from his ass, taking a moment to look at the gaping, lubed-up hole with an "mmf", before tracing a finger around the rim of Sören's opening, teasing him even further. Sören gave another whimper, and then Anthony spun him around and shoved Sören back up against the wall, kissing him hungrily as they worked together to take down Anthony's trousers and briefs.  
  
The next thing Sören knew, Anthony was picking him up off the floor, and Sören's legs were around Anthony's waist. He held onto Anthony, his weight supported by leaning against the wall. As they kissed again, Anthony pushed into him, and when Anthony was buried in him to the hilt Sören let out a gasp and then a cry of "_Yes_..."  
  
Anthony growled and kissed Sören again, rocking into him. Sören held on tighter, letting out little whimpers into the kiss as Anthony's cock stroked him just right, and oh, the _passion_ of being taken this way, the need in them, the hunger, not able to wait. Needing it now, needing it like this. Sören cried out and Anthony gave a deeper groan, growling again as he nipped Sören's lower lip, then his neck. "Fuck, I want you," Anthony rasped.  
  
"I need you," Sören husked, and their eyes met.  
  
It was the truth, the full, honest truth, his soul laid bare. Even as Sören was seething over the rejection from Trisha, and felt like it was ultimately Anthony's fault for pushing his friends on him, Sören couldn't be too angry. He loved Anthony too much. He needed Anthony too much. _I need you like life needs life._  
  
Anthony slammed into him harder, and Sören heard himself yelping, howling, whining like an animal in heat, loving the way he was taken, _fucked_, in wild, hot abandon. Anthony's deeper groans followed Sören's cries, until they were synced, calling out together, until they were kissing deeply, drinking each other's sounds of passion, devouring each other, breathing each other in, one flesh. Sören got closer and the pleasure built higher, and higher, until it was coiled so tight, so tense, that Sören could feel himself ready to break, and still he needed more, needed to _feel_ him, needed to stay in this place of burning, all-consuming love-lust where nothing else mattered, not Trisha, not Einar, not anyone, just them, just their fuck.  
  
When Sören came he shattered, spending all over Anthony's expensive suit, and he gloried in the mess he made, defiling the suave lawyer, who himself seemed to also glory in the wildness of it, a look of utter bliss on his face as he climaxed a few seconds later, and then they laughed together in euphoria.  
  
"Holy _fuck_," Anthony said, panting, grinning.  
  
"Holy fuck is right." Their eyes met. "My religion is you."  
  
Anthony kissed him again, deeply, sweetly. Sören's arms tightened around Anthony and he sighed into the kiss as Anthony rocked him a little.  
  
Somehow, they made their way to the couch, and Anthony just held Sören on his lap for awhile, cradling him like he was a precious child. "You were magnificent," Anthony said. "I don't just mean up against the wall, there..."  
  
Sören chuckled.  
  
"But... your art." Anthony traced Sören's lips with his thumb, and then he booped Sören's nose, making him smile and giggle. "I feel like I fall in love with you all over again when I look at the things you've made."  
  
"Mmm, it's almost too bad that I couldn't show, you know, those paintings of you, considering your mum..."  
  
Anthony turned beetroot and grinned. "Your love shines through there, too." He stroked Sören's face. "Your love. Your spirit of fire. Your light."  
  
They went to bed and made slow, sweet, sensual love together, Sören taking Anthony on his back and then Anthony taking Sören on his back. After the two rounds they fell asleep, and when Sören woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, he realized that despite the stress of the evening, he hadn't had any nightmares.  
  
He wondered how long that would last.  
  
  
_  
  
  
The day after the show, Sören had to work that Saturday, going in at seven AM, but he was due to come home at seven PM. Anthony drove him to work and would be picking him up when his shift was over, and he and Anthony lingered in the parking lot, making out before Anthony pushed him off with a wicked grin.  
  
"Not fair," Sören said, "getting me all worked up like this." He stuck his tongue out at Anthony.  
  
"Well, I'll be thinking about you." Anthony's wicked grin got even more evil. "Might even take care of myself and tell you about it..."  
  
"Fuck. You."  
  
"I love you too."  
  
They kissed again, and Anthony gave his ass a playful swat on the way out. Sören had a spring in his step as he walked into the National, and the warm glow - that they could still make out like horny teenagers and flirt outrageously, _we still got it_ \- stayed with Sören through the first half of his shift.  
  
When Sören took a break for lunch in the cafe, eating with Colin, he was interrupted by a man in jeans and a T-shirt with the logo of a florist company on it, carrying a clipboard. "Mr. Sigurðsson?"  
  
"Jæja?"  
  
"Sign here." The man handed him a pen. As Sören signed on the clipboard, the man reached down and then he put a bouquet of flowers on the table. He took the clipboard and said, "Enjoy," giving a smile as he walked off.  
  
Colin rolled his eyes, though he was smiling. "You two are gonna give me fucking diabetes," Colin said.  
  
Sören grinned at the bouquet - a lovely arrangement of orange lilies, yellow begonias, and red geraniums, all fiery. Sören could hear Anthony's words in his head. _My spirit of fire._ It was such an Anthony thing to do, sending him a bouquet like this, and Sören pulled out his cell phone, about to text him to say thank you. But then he decided to check the card that came with the bouquet first, peeling off the cream damask card, trimmed with gold foil, from the red tissue paper. He opened the card and he read the note:  
  
_I'm sorry I couldn't make it last night. Congrats on your big show and cheers!  
  
-Trisha_  
  
Sören's jaw dropped.  
  
"What, what is it, mate," Colin asked.  
  
"They're not from Anthony."  
  
Colin howled. "You mean you got someone else chasing after you? Hot _damn_ -"  
  
"No, it's not like that." Sören scowled. Then his mouth opened again. He couldn't believe it. _Trisha sent me flowers. What the fuck._  
  
He put the bouquet in the break room with a note, intending to pick it up when his shift was finished. When he went back to work, he was still unsettled by the bouquet - he felt a glimmer of hope, like maybe Trisha's migraine was in fact real and she hadn't intentionally snubbed him, maybe she really did want to be friends. He still didn't like her, but he also wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt and not be judgmental, remembering Trisha's words at their breakfast a week ago: _No one thinks the rich blonde bimbo would have academic interests._ Sören would have likely judged Anthony too, if they'd met under different circumstances, and Anthony turned out to be the love of his life. Maybe Trisha wasn't so bad.  
  
And yet, something nagged at him. Something felt off, still, and Sören wasn't sure what.  
  
Sören had another break a few hours later, a shorter one. As he sat outside to get some fresh air, he played solitaire on his phone, thinking about the flowers Trisha sent him, still dumbfounded, and then he felt the light bulb go off in his head. He heard her voice in his head again: _The history of that time period is also really interesting... little details like the language of flowers that people used to communicate discretely in courtship and friendship..._  
  
Sören quit the solitaire game and pulled up the Internet on his phone. He typed "Victorian language of flowers" into Google and waited. He scrolled down, picked a site from the search results, and braced himself as the page loaded.  
  
After scrolling up and down a few times, he figured it out, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Orange lilies meant hatred, begonias meant beware, and geraniums meant stupidity or folly.  
  
_It might just be a coincidence. I mean, the flowers look fiery together, she's seen the ink on my arm, or maybe Anthony told her I have this thing with fire._  
  
But it didn't feel like a coincidence, especially next to the other things. The convenient migraine, or "migraine" that kept Trisha from going to Sören's art show, so Sören spent the evening feeling rejected and not able to really celebrate his first show. The haircut.  
  
Sören swallowed hard. He was shaking like a leaf, his heart hammering in his ears.  
  
When he got back in, he marched right to the break room and threw the bouquet in the trash and walked away, not looking back.  
  
It was only later, just before Anthony came to pick him up, that Sören realized he should have saved it to bring home, and show Anthony _look, this is evidence that she hates me_, but he wondered if Anthony would himself insist it was just a coincidence - after all, it was Anthony's job to defend guilty people for a living. And when Sören looked in the trash, realizing his mistake and knowing he should save the evidence, he saw it had already been emptied, the bouquet gone. He didn't want to bring it up to Anthony without having the bouquet in hand, physical proof; he didn't want to just tell Anthony _I got a weird bouquet from Trisha _and sound like he was making something up.  
  
"Fuck," Sören growled.  
  
All the way home, Sören felt uneasy, unable to relax despite Anthony playing smooth jazz in the car, the promise of a bubble bath and back rub when they got in. Rain was falling on the windshield, and Sören could feel the storm gathering inside him. The question was no longer if, but when, the thunder would roll. When the lightning would strike and set everything ablaze.


	35. Crash

"All clear," Sören called out.  
  
The doctors and nurses stepped aside as Sören pressed the defibrillator pads to his patient's chest and gave a charge. _Come on. Come on, you fucker, LIVE._  
  
The patient, a fifty-two-year-old man - a husband, a father, a grandfather - had a malignant brain tumor and would die if nothing was done. But everyone knew going in that the surgery was risky, and yet, this was precisely why Sören had gone into this field. "Never tell me the odds," Sören had said before he scrubbed in; he'd performed miracles before. He was not so overconfident to be cavalier and foolish, but when patients put their lives in his hands Sören intended to keep them alive, and countless times now he had given someone their life back, done the impossible.  
  
Tonight, he was fighting a losing battle. "Come on," Sören yelled through clenched teeth as he watched the heart monitor, the flatlining brain scan. "Come on you _motherfuck_, come fucking ON, _deyrðu ekki á mig, þorirðu ekki._"  
  
Then the long, loud beep. Colin took the patient's pulse and shook his head, eyes locked with Sören's over the surgical mask.  
  
Sören took a deep breath, looked at the clock, and called it, feeling the crushing weight of defeat, every syllable a blow. "Time of death, thirteen hours and twenty-four minutes."  
  
He took off his mask, washed his hands, and stomped out of the operating room.  
  
He stopped in the bathroom first, to try to pull himself together enough to tell the man's wife. What he felt wasn't guilt, that he had done something wrong. What he felt was shame, that he _was_ what was wrong. He knew logically it wasn't his fault - it was the tumor's fault, and he and his team had done the best they could. And yet.  
  
_And yet._  
  
He had lost a patient exactly twice before. Once when he was an intern, losing a patient who looked a great deal like his mother, which almost broke him, making him wrestle with suicidal thoughts for days. He had managed to push through it and keep going, but it wasn't necessarily any easier the second time, in 2009. And that had been another low point, months after meeting a lovely Englishwoman visiting Reykjavik who ghosted him... months before his sister's murder in 2010, and then being roofied and raped at a club.  
  
He kept reminding himself of all the lives he _did_ save.  
  
And yet. Tonight, with the third death in his career, it was three too many. Three times he'd failed. Even when it wasn't his fault, Sören still felt like it was his fault. That was the way of playing god in the operating theatre.  
  
Like the previous time he'd lost a patient, he started to feel that sense of detachment, dissociation, like part of him was shutting down and going elsewhere for awhile. He made it out of the bathroom and to where the man's wife was waiting, and he gave her the speech, trying to keep calm and convey sympathy empathy for the woman's loss, regret at what had happened, without making it sound like it was his fault, without opening himself and the hospital up to blame and scrutiny. There would be an investigation anyway, there always was; it would be brought up at the weekly staff meeting. But for now, Sören tried to placate her without implicating himself, not because he didn't feel responsible but because giving her the false impression there had been incompetence would be upsetting to her and put everyone through a needless round of drama. The woman cried, which was expected, but she didn't take it out on him, which was almost a relief.  
  
Almost. Sören was too numb to feel anything like relief.  
  
After he talked to the patient's wife he climbed the stairwell to the rooftop, under the grey April sky after the rains, taking a puff on his inhaler, breathing in the scent of petrichor. He looked down over Holborn, watching cars drive down streets, people walk along sidewalks like little specks, watching people go in and out of buildings. Thinking about all the lives he'd saved over the years, and the lives that they, in turn, had saved or otherwise impacted in some way, all connected, like each person was a nerve or a neuron in one universal mind.  
  
And now, thinking about the lives he'd lost, and how that, too, impacted the world. What had been lost, when those sparks of life died... where the darkness had swallowed the light.  
  
"Sigurðsson, go home." Ed's voice was behind him.  
  
"I still have another four hours on -"  
  
"Sören. Sigurðsson. Go. Fucking. Home." Ed walked to stand beside him, and then faced him, arms folded.  
  
Sören gave a shuddery sigh. Ed knew he wasn't OK - the staff didn't collectively lose patients often, or the National would have been shut down ages ago - but Ed had seen enough to know a doctor who lost a patient needed some time, no matter how hard they tried to put on a brave face.  
  
"If you need tomorrow off, take tomorrow off, too. I'd rather have you stay home than come in if you're spooked. But you _will_ come in, either tomorrow, or the next day, because we need you. Don't let what happened today fool you otherwise. You did your best. You _are_ one of our best." Their eyes met. "I'd like to see you as consultant someday -"  
  
"Doing what you do."  
  
"Aye, doing what I do." Ed nodded. He patted Sören's shoulder. "It will be awhile before you get here, but... you'll get here. Right now, though - get your arse home."  
  
Sören took the Tube home, still feeling that detached, out-of-body feeling where he was aware he was on the Tube, going to Kingston, and yet he was also somewhere else, floating above and away from it all. The rain was starting up again as he walked from the station to their flat, and he was drenched by the time he got up the stairwell.  
  
He immediately stripped and got in the shower, both to decontaminate from the germs of his job and the outside world, and to try to come back to himself, to get out of the floaty, surreal place he was in. But even with the water as hot as he could stand it, he still felt ungrounded when he got out of the shower, and when he looked at himself in the mirror his eyes seemed faraway.  
  
"Fuck."  
  
Sören toweled off, put on a T-shirt and pajama bottoms, and crawled into bed. He found himself reaching for Finn and Tony, pulling them into bed with him, hugging them tight. He lay there awake for a bit, just staring, and then the exhaustion settled in - not just from the hours he worked, but the feeling of utter defeat, the need to just shut down and go elsewhere for awhile, even as it was a crapshoot whether his dreams would be pleasant or turn into nightmares. He was willing to take that chance to get out of the nightmare he was in now. _I failed. I failed. Someone died on my table. I failed._  
  
Sören took a few deep breaths, trying to fight off the hysteria, trying to come back at his brain noise with logic. _You did everything that could be done. He could have, would have, died anyway with someone else working on him. The tumor was that bad._  
  
And there it was again. _I still failed._  
  
Sören closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked at the clock - Anthony was scheduled to pick him up at the National at six, and Sören thought he should shoot Anthony a text message and let him know he was at home. But that meant having to get out of bed and walk across the room to the dresser where his cell phone was on its charger, and even that felt like a herculean effort right now, beyond his capabilities. _Besides, my nap won't be long, just an hour or so._  
  
He pulled Finn and Tony closer, and closed his eyes. He went to his happy place, where he and Anthony lived by the sea, by the forest, and had a dog and a couple of cats. He thought about walking with Anthony along the shore, hiking through the woods with him, watching a sunset, making love on the beach. Cuddling together at home with purring cats.  
  
With a little sigh, Sören fell asleep.  
  
  
_  
  
  
"Sören, wake up."  
  
Anthony was sitting on the edge of the bed, his face stern.  
  
Sören blinked with disbelief, and mumbled, "What time is it?" even though there was a clock right on the bedtable next to him. When Sören looked at the time - quarter to seven PM - he made a noise. "Oh, _shit._ I was gonna text you..."  
  
"Yeah." Anthony narrowed his eyes. "Do you realize how worried I was? Running around the National like a madman, trying to find out what happened to you?"  
  
"Did they... did they tell you?"  
  
Anthony shook his head. "The only people on from your shift were in surgery and I wasn't going to interrupt them -"  
  
"Right, so." Sören exhaled sharply. "I'm really sorry I... didn't text you. I was going to tell you not to come, that I was already at home, and I..." Sören winced, and covered his face with his hands, not wanting to break down in front of Anthony. _Great. I fail communicating like an adult, too._  
  
But then Anthony's hands were on his, pulling Sören's hands away from his face, and all annoyance was gone from Anthony's face - now there was concern in his eyes, compassion. He reached out to stroke Sören's cheek. "Sören. Love. What happened?"  
  
"I lost a patient on the table." Sören closed his eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry -"  
  
Sören opened his eyes and felt an irrational flare of anger, not wanting to be pitied. Not wanting to be _excused_ of his failure. "Don't you feel sorry for me, Anthony Hewlett-Johnson."  
  
Anthony sighed, and Sören realized he'd snapped at Anthony when Anthony was just trying to be supportive of his partner. Sören reached out and took Anthony's hand and squeezed. "I don't mean to be so harsh," Sören said. "I just..." He looked away, unshed tears burning his eyes. "I'm not in a good place right now."  
  
"I think I'd got there."  
  
A long silence hung between them, and then Anthony took Sören's hand in his, began stroking it with his thumb, tracing lazy circles on Sören's wrist. "Forgive me for asking this, I know it's going to sound insensitive, and I want to assure you that I know you would never be intentionally negligent, but... do you think you're going to need a lawyer?" Their eyes met. "I can't represent you myself, I can't be objective, but I can help with finding -"  
  
Sören vehemently shook his head. "I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be sued for malpractice, if that's what you're asking." Sören took a deep breath; he didn't want to talk about the whats and wherefores, but it was clear Anthony was in barrister mode again so it was forcing the issue. "Fifty-two-year-old man with an aggressive malignant tumor. He started getting treatment for his cancer too late, you see, he didn't want to go in to a doctor when he had headaches and... anyway. He was considered a high-risk surgery - he absolutely would die if we didn't do anything, but his chances of surviving the operation weren't optimal. They weren't zero, but... yeah. He had the odds discussed with him, we all knew and... well..." Sören gestured to himself. "I've fought the odds and won before. But the tumor was... well, it wasn't pretty, and he just... he just went." Sören closed his eyes, reliving the moment when the cardiac arrest started, the warning beeps on the monitor. He would never forget that sound. He remembered the jump with the defibrillator...  
  
"So you did everything you could, and..."  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
Anthony pulled Sören into his arms. He rubbed his nose in Sören's short curls and kissed the top of his head. "I wish I knew what to say. I know you don't want me to say sorry..."  
  
"Yeah. I..." Sören sighed and patted him. "It's all right."  
  
Anthony held him and rocked him for a few minutes and then he said, "Have you eaten anything?"  
  
Sören shook his head.  
  
"Shall I go and get something? What would you like?"  
  
"I don't know," Sören said, with a resigned half-shrug. "Not really hungry, haven't really thought about it."  
  
"Well, you need to eat _something._"  
  
Sören gave another shrug.  
  
Anthony sighed. Sören sighed too. Anthony resumed rocking him, and in the safe shield wall of Anthony's chest and arms, Sören found comfort, hearing his breathing slow down, feeling the tension melt out of his upper back. At last Anthony gently pushed Sören back against the pillows, put Tony and Finn back in his arms, and pulled the blankets up around him, planting a kiss on his brow. "I'll be back in a bit with food."  
  
Sören closed his eyes. He thought that Anthony would go out to get takeaway, but then he heard sounds in the kitchen. Anthony didn't normally cook so he wondered what was going on, but he was floaty and disoriented enough to not wonder too much, mostly just not thinking.  
  
Then Sören heard Anthony come back in the bedroom. His jacket and tie had been stripped off, though he was still in his dress shirt and trousers. Anthony was carrying a tray, with two plates of grilled cheese sandwiches, and two bowls of tomato soup. Sören managed a weak smile as he sat up, and Anthony gingerly set the tray down and sat next to Sören in the bed.  
  
"You know grilled cheese is my favorite," Sören said.  
  
"I do." Anthony skritched Sören's chin like he was a cat, and Sören's smile got a little bigger and he gave Anthony a kiss on the cheek.  
  
They ate in companionable silence, leaning on each other. Sören was once again touched by the gesture - it was nothing fancy, but it was his comfort food, and meant more than if Anthony had gone to get takeaway. Sören was once again awed and humbled by how much Anthony loved him, and took care of him. Sören would have never guessed when they first met that day in November 2011, that the suave, posh, confident barrister had such a soft touch, even more impressive after Sören had heard of Anthony's reputation; here at home the Shark was downright kittenish, and Sören felt honored to be in the klieg light of his love.  
  
When they were done eating, Sören gave him another kiss on the cheek and said, "You cooked, so let me do dishes."  
  
Anthony shook his head. "I'll do them. I'm taking care of you tonight."  
  
Sören felt a little guilty, not wanting to overburden Anthony - he needed to rest and relax too - but he also knew better than to argue with him about it. "Hi Taking Care Of You Tonight -"  
  
Anthony gave an exaggerated groan as he took the tray back to the kitchen.  
  
Sören stretched out again, half-dozing to the sound of the sink running in the kitchen. When Anthony came back, Sören watched him unbutton his shirt, and admired Anthony's body once the shirt came off. Sören felt too soul-drained to think about sex right now, but that didn't stop him from looking at Anthony, whose cheeks turned pink as he watched Sören watching him. Anthony bit his lower lip, which Sören found adorable and incredibly sexy, and cursed his mood putting a damper on his libido.  
  
Anthony undid his belt. "Would you like a bubble bath?"  
  
"Oh... OK." Even though Sören had showered earlier, the bath would be relaxing.  
  
Anthony nodded, and walked off to the bathroom. Sören heard the tub running, and Anthony came back in the bedroom and took off his trousers, then his boxer-briefs. When Anthony was naked, Sören stripped out of his T-shirt and pajama bottoms, and Sören felt that little flutter when he heard Anthony's breath hitch, watched Anthony's cock rise at the sight of him naked. Sören sighed, wishing he didn't feel so awful, and then Anthony took his hand and pulled him along to the bathtub.  
  
The bubble bath smelled like lavender, and Sören smiled at the scent as he made his way to the tub. Anthony had also lit candles, though Sören suspected it was more to create a peaceful ambiance than to be seductive. In a decidedly non-sexy move, Anthony grabbed a tube of face mask out of the medicine cabinet and applied it to his face, looking ridiculous, making Sören giggle, and then he rubbed it on Sören's face, making Sören laugh harder. Then Anthony stepped into the tub and reached out for Sören's hand, and they got into position. Usually when they took baths together they faced each other, legs braiding in the tub, but this time Sören sat with his back against Anthony's chest, and Anthony held him, started rocking him again.  
  
Sören realized as Anthony rocked him that the face mask wasn't just for Anthony's skincare regime and vanity, but it felt cooling and soothing, which he needed right now. "Mmmmf," Sören murmured, leaning back, getting closer. "Feels nice."  
  
"That's what I'd hoped." Anthony nuzzled Sören's cheek, arms tightening around him.  
  
"You're so good to me."  
  
"I try. You deserve it."  
  
Sören tilted his face and they rubbed noses - Sören giggled again at the face mask on Anthony, wishing he could take a picture of the two of them looking silly like this. But then he supposed it was just as well, _yeah here's a picture of the day I lost a patient on the operating table._  
  
Sören sighed, not wanting to think about it again.  
  
Anthony seemed to just know. "Shhhhh, sweetheart. You're home now. You're safe."  
  
Anthony continued rocking him, and Sören rested in the heat of the bubbles and the scent of the lavender and the cool, tingly face mask and the glow of the candles and the strength of Anthony's arms, the feel of Anthony's breath on his neck and shoulder. Time seemed to stop.  
  
And then they had prune skin, and had to get out of the tub. Anthony scrubbed off Sören's face mask, then his own, and after they toweled off, Anthony blew out the candles and they walked to the bedroom. Anthony turned down the covers and patted for Sören to get in.  
  
Once Sören was in the bed, Anthony gently rolled him onto his stomach and began massaging Sören's shoulders, kneading and rubbing in firm circles. Sören sighed as the tension melted out of him, and then he felt Anthony's cock against the crack of his ass and he said, "Oh god, Anthony, don't take this the wrong way, but I can't tonight -"  
  
"I know," Anthony said, patting him. "I'm just rubbing your back to try to make you feel better, I'm not expecting..."  
  
"OK." Sören felt a pang of guilt. "I'm really sorry, I -"  
  
"You don't need to apologize." Anthony squeezed his shoulders and then continued rubbing. "I love you. I told you, I want to take care of you tonight. It's OK to just rest."  
  
Tears stung Sören's eyes again, wanting to shake Anthony and scream at him _how can you be this wonderful to me, I'm a fucking failure_. But he didn't. He was too exhausted to do anything but lay there, and let the magic of Anthony's touch take him to a better place for awhile.  
  
Anthony's touch was _too_ good and Sören relaxed enough that the biggest tension of all, the wall around his heart, came undone and Sören found himself weeping, even though he hadn't wanted to fall apart over this, not wanting to make Anthony sad, and not wanting to give into the pain, the raw grief of losing a patient. Hot shame burned Sören's face, his mind's eye once again replaying every detail of the surgery, those fraught moments of the beeping heart monitor, the charge with the defib pads, the flatlining brain scan.  
  
_I failed. I'm a failure. I failed._ And then Sören was saying it aloud, like a mantra of madness. "I failed. I failed. I'm a failure. I failed -"  
  
"Sören, _no._" There was warmth in Anthony's voice, compassion, but it was also firm, stern. Anthony came around and cupped Sören's face, made him look up, look him in the eye. "It wasn't your fault."  
  
"He put his life in my hands and _he died_ -"  
  
"Sören. Do you remember when we first met, when I was asking you about Rafferty? The man you reported for appearing drunk, too impaired to perform surgery, and someone ended up dying because of it?"  
  
"I'm surprised you remember..." And Sören immediately felt sheepish for saying it. Of course Anthony would remember that.  
  
But Anthony wasn't offended. He went on, not missing a beat. "_You_ are not like _him_. I _know_ you, I know how careful you are, your attention to detail, your compassion for every person under your knife. I know you did everything you could, and it's like you said, he had an aggressive, malignant tumor, the rates for his surviving the operation weren't good. He still consented on the small chance that maybe the operation would be successful. You did your best."  
  
"I did my best and someone _died._"  
  
"He would have died anyway, whether it was you or someone else."  
  
"Do you know that for a fact? Maybe a better surgeon could have -"  
  
"Maybe the job was given to you because you are one of the better surgeons, Sören, you've performed miracles before."  
  
"Not this time."  
  
"No, but maybe next time. The problem with blaming yourself, beating yourself up, is that you know you need to have a certain amount of confidence to keep doing this job, and this is the confidence killer. I'm not a doctor, but it's something very similar for me when I take a case. Sometimes I win and an innocent person will go free, or a good person who chose the wrong path will get a lesser sentence. Sometimes I _don't_ win, and I have to not take it personally. I have to keep going out there, and fight on another day. We have to keep doing this for the lives we will save, not get hung up on those we can't. It doesn't mean those lives don't matter. It's precisely because all these lives matter, that we have to keep on, for their sake, and not let the fear, the shame, get us down."  
  
Sören gave a shuddery sigh. He knew Anthony was right, but he still felt the burning sting of shame, of anger with himself over the defeat. "It just hurts so much."  
  
"I know." Anthony stroked Sören's cheek. "I know."  
  
Anthony resumed rubbing Sören's back, and Sören wept afresh, the wall inside him crashing down, all of the emotions rushing out of him like a flood. It was too much. The man had been nothing to him personally, just a patient, nobody he knew outside of the National, and yet he was a microcosm of every loss Sören had known, every mistake Sören had made, every regret he had, every unforeseen consequence of seemingly benign actions. Sören thought about finding his mamma dead just before his sixth birthday, his fierce determination in childhood to become a doctor to save lives. And now he had lost a life for the third time in his career, and he felt like he was betraying that small boy who kept himself going despite the abuse from his aunt and uncle, despite the bullying of his peers, because that small boy had such a sense of _purpose_, that he was going to grow up and fix people no matter what. He felt like he was betraying his mamma, even though her death wasn't his fault and there was nothing he could have done, at five years old. The mental image of his mother's stiff, lifeless body, not breathing, and the mental image of the man on his operating table blurred together. Sören sobbed, screamed, thinking of the man's children, his grandchildren, his wife, left with their grief the way he was left with his own.  
  
At last Anthony just held him, pet him. "Let it out," Anthony whispered, rubbing Sören's head. "Let it out, sweetheart. Don't keep it inside. You don't have to pretend it doesn't hurt. I know it hurts." He kissed the tears that flowed. "Just so long as you know it wasn't your fault."  
  
The logic was still lost on that sense of shame, the bitter anger Sören felt at himself for not being able to save him, the way he'd saved others. "I failed him. I failed his family. I failed..."  
  
"Shhhhhhh. You didn't fail. You did all you could."  
  
"I failed."  
  
"No, Sören."  
  
"I'm a fucking failure."  
  
"No, you're not."  
  
"Yes I am."  
  
Anthony's eyes locked with his. "_No._"  
  
Anthony rocked Sören harder, rubbing his back, rubbing his head, making soothing noises as Sören cried and cried. He knew that arguing with Anthony was pointless - Anthony argued for a living - and, as importantly, he was _tired_. Sören was still too wound up to sleep, but he was also too wound up to keep pressing on and trying to explain why he failed. And he knew, logically, Anthony was right. It was just that he still _felt_ wrong. But he was also feeling too drained to keep talking about it.  
  
So he lay there in Anthony's arms, accepting defeat, but also accepting the comfort for his defeat. Every now and again, his mind's eye replayed the surgery, watched everything fall apart, watched the man die over and over again on his table. And Sören would start crying again, sobbing, keening, calling out "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" even though neither the man nor his family could hear him. Anthony's arms tightened around him each time, Anthony whispered "Shhhhh, hush," and pet him, kissed his brow, kissed his tears until Sören calmed down. Until the next squall, when it would start again, when Sören would break down, crying out "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," as he saw the death, as he re-examined the death scene and what could have, if anything, been done differently.  
  
Time passed in a blur. It was midnight, then it was after three AM, and Anthony was still awake, holding him, offering him comfort every time the pain came back, offering him comfort when the fit died down for the time being and there was just drained, numb emptiness.  
  
Now Sören's words were for Anthony. "I'm sorry." Sören reached out to stroke Anthony's face, met his eyes in the glow of the nightlight. "I'm keeping you up all night -"  
  
"You need me."  
  
"And you have work tomorrow -"  
  
"This is more important."  
  
Sören pursed his lips. Before he could open his mouth and argue, Anthony put a finger to Sören's lips and then he traced them, slowly, sensually, lovingly. Sören felt a shiver down his spine, even though he was still too emotionally mangled for sex. Anthony offered the tip of his thumb to Sören to suck on, and Anthony stroked Sören's curls with his free hand.  
  
"I'm here for you," Anthony husked. "You are my partner. You are my life. You are all that exists, right now."  
  
Sören rested his head on Anthony's shoulder and closed his eyes.  
  
Somehow, that was the magic bullet that put Sören to sleep. His body stirred when light burned through his closed eyes, and Sören made a grumble of protest, then a little high-pitched noise of concern when he realized Anthony was usually up before dawn and it was some time after that. Through narrowed, bleary eyes, Sören saw it was just after seven AM... and Anthony was still awake, holding Sören in his arms. Looking like hell, because he hadn't slept, but still managing a smile and a little kiss.  
  
"Anthony. You..." Sören blinked with disbelief. "Aren't you..."  
  
Anthony shook his head. "I'm calling out today."  
  
Sören's mouth opened, and Anthony chuckled and pressed his fingers to Sören's jaw, closing his mouth. He planted a kiss on Sören's brow and then he pulled Sören closer. "I take it you're not going in?" Anthony asked.  
  
Sören shook his head. "Not today."  
  
"But tomorrow."  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
"Good." Anthony kissed Sören's brow again. "Get back on that horse after you fall off, and all of that."  
  
"I feel like the damn horse."  
  
Anthony leered. "Well, you're a good ride."  
  
Sören facepalmed, laughing a husky, tired laugh, and then he blew a raspberry into Anthony's chest, making Anthony laugh. Then Sören shook his head. "Not right now. I -"  
  
"No, I know." Anthony pet Sören's curls, stroked his cheek. Their eyes met. "I understand. Besides... you need more rest."  
  
"You need to get some sleep too."  
  
"If I sleep now I'll fuck up my entire body clock, so it's better I just stay awake. But I can stay with you here for awhile." Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose.  
  
Anthony pulled Finn and Tony closer to them, and with Sören hugging the stuffed animals, resting in Anthony's arms, Anthony pet him and rocked him until Sören fell back asleep.  
  
Sören woke up again after six PM, sitting up with a start and a gasp. "Jesus Christ."  
  
Anthony heard him get up and came in the bedroom; he was wearing pajamas and his wire-rimmed glasses, and Sören had a feeling he was doing some paperwork at home. "You're up."  
  
"I'm Sören."  
  
Anthony facepalmed, then gave him the finger, shaking with silent laughter, and Sören gave it back, grinning. Then Sören's moment of good cheer wore off and he scowled again, looking down at his feet. "I didn't mean to sleep that long -"  
  
"I know, but you needed it, clearly. Tea? And we can get delivery or something?"  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
Sören pulled on a T-shirt and pajama bottoms and when he stumbled out into the living room, Anthony was getting the tea ready. Anthony sat next to him on the couch and for a few minutes they sat together in silence, leaning on each other with their cheeks touching, drinking tea. Sören glanced over at Anthony's desk and saw his assessment that Anthony had still been working, even with taking the day off, was correct; his laptop was on and he had portfolios open, paperwork on his desk, pages out of the printer that needed to go somewhere.  
  
When their tea was finished, Anthony called the hole-in-the-wall Italian place they liked, tracing circles on Sören's wrist as he made the order, and then he pulled Sören onto his lap and held him close, cradling him like a precious child, rocking and petting him. Sören melted into his touch and half-dozed until the delivery arrived.  
  
They shared an eggplant parmesan and a garden salad, and after the meal they curled up on the couch together, only sort of paying attention to the TV. Anthony didn't ask Sören any questions about how he slept or how he was doing - Sören knew Anthony already knew he wasn't doing well, and wasn't going to press Sören to talk about it if he didn't feel like it.  
  
_Highlander II_ was on, and they decided on that, having a mutual appreciation of godawful sci-fi films. Anthony spooned Sören, arms around Sören's waist, head nestled in the crook of Sören's neck and shoulder, and Sören managed to relax as they made snarky commentary and laughed throughout the movie.  
  
After the movie they showered together - again, Sören was too emotionally drained for sex, and Anthony understood. Sören was just drained in general, feeling like he was made out of lead, leaning on Anthony, who held him up, making soothing noises as he lathered Sören in slow, gentle circles.  
  
Anthony carried him from the bathroom to their bed, with Sören giggling a little. "My hero," Sören said, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek.  
  
Anthony turned pink, and he kissed Sören back, with a bashful smile. Then he chuckled and said, "Don't build that pedestal too high. I might fall."  
  
"Well, we can lay in the gutter together." Sören sighed as Anthony placed him down on the bed. "Look up at the stars."  
  
Sören reached for pajama bottoms and watched Anthony pull on his own, and then Anthony climbed over him and kissed him hard. When the kiss broke, leaving Sören breathless, Anthony stroked Sören's face, and the fierce ache in his eyes made Sören twinge, and regret that he was too tired tonight. "I love you, Sören Sigurðsson," Anthony said, his voice husky with emotion. "Never forget that."  
  
Anthony hit the lights and they snuggled together, holding Finn and Tony. Rain began falling outside, and though Sören's mind started replaying the death on his operating table again, he made himself listen to the rain, and the beat of Anthony's heart. Sören had wondered if he was going to be able to sleep tonight, after having slept till six PM, when he was scheduled to go in early tomorrow morning. But the rhythm of the rain and Anthony's heartbeat, and his lingering bone-tired soul-tired feeling, put him to sleep in no time.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören groaned at the sound of Anthony's alarm blaring. Anthony swore under his breath and batted the alarm off with such vehemence that it made Sören crack up laughing.  
  
"I love that sound," Anthony said, smiling as he kissed the tip of Sören's nose. Then he added, "Your laugh. Not that infernal -"  
  
"I know." Sören grinned and they rubbed noses.  
  
Sören started to get ready for work, even though he didn't really want to. He was tempted to take another day off, but he knew that would start a slippery slope of missing another day, and another, until he was out of medicine entirely and had to find another line of work. He'd come too far to give up now, and he had yet farther to go - he remembered Ed's words that he could make consultant someday.  
  
He had more lives to save.  
  
Anthony saw Sören hesitating every now and again as he put his scrubs on, watched him pause over morning coffee. At last Anthony took Sören's hands in his and kissed them.  
  
"You can do this," Anthony said. "You _will_ do this. You will go back out there and do what you do. Because you have to."  
  
"I'm afraid," Sören said honestly.  
  
Their eyes met. "The motto of my chambers is 'Do right, fear no-one.' That doesn't just mean our clients' opposition, or opposing counsel, or the people who judge us for representing who and what we represent. It means ourselves, too. You can lose a battle without being _defeated_, you go on to other cases. You fight on another day. When you choke, when you start thinking that because you've lost one you're going to lose them all, it's over." Anthony squeezed Sören's hands. "Don't let this get the best of you, Sören. Keep trying. Keep fighting."  
  
Then Anthony got up, and Sören wondered where he was going; Anthony came back with his hands behind his back. "I don't have court today," Anthony said, and pulled out the wig from behind his back, putting it on Sören's head. "You need George more than I do right now, he wants to give moral support."  
  
Sören threw his head back and laughed. "I love you, you muppet."  
  
"The Swedish Chef is calling me a muppet now."  
  
Sören chased Anthony around the kitchen, finally getting him against the wall and tweaking his nose. Then Anthony grabbed Sören and tickled him until Sören was bent over the counter, screaming and giggling, thrashing about as Anthony got him under the arms. George fell off Sören's head and slid across the counter, and Anthony said, "Wow, George is like 'get me away from these crazy people'."  
  
"'Mum and Dad are being gross again.'"  
  
Anthony laughed and said, "I can give him something to really complain about," and brought Sören back to a standing position, then tilted Sören's head to give him a kiss.  
  
Anthony drove him to work. There was light rain when they left the flat, and halfway there the rain started to let up. As Anthony pulled in front of the National, rays of golden sun were peeking in through the silver clouds, and Sören's breath hitched at the sight of it... a frisson through him, as if the universe were trying to send him a message.  
  
Anthony gave him a kiss. "I'll see you at six."  
  
Sören's first job of the day was a pre-surgery consult, preparing a woman in her early thirties for spinal stenosis surgery next month, going over benefits and risks, wanting to put her fears at ease about the surgery. He tried very hard to mask his own fear left over from losing a patient two days prior, and in reassuring her that things would likely be fine, even if the recovery would be slow and arduous, it gave him a much-needed boost of confidence as well.  
  
_You can do this._  
  
After his consult he had a staff meeting, where the death on his operating table was one of the subjects discussed. Sören was relieved that he was not being held responsible for the death and there would neither be litigation nor disciplinary action - not that he had been worried about either of those two things, but now here was the tangible confirmation of such. He still felt at least somewhat to blame, that he had failed the patient, and he was in a somber mood through the rest of the meeting, trying not to keep replaying the death over and over in his head.  
  
Anthony's words rang in his head as he got up when the meeting was adjourned. _Keep trying. Keep fighting._  
  
Sören had a short break, and an ice cream van was near the hospital. It was before noon but Sören didn't care. On a whim, he took a walk to Queen's Square, where the trees were budding in spring, and colorful flowers blossomed. He took pictures of George "eating" the ice cream cone and "smelling" the flowers, and texted Anthony with them.  
  
_Why isn't George eating something healthy?_ Anthony texted back.  
  
Sören howled. _Awww, he had to have ice cream! He would have cried._  
  
_You spoil him._  
  
Sören sent back an emoji of a face with a stuck out tongue.  
  
Then Anthony texted back, _I'll be a little late picking you up, about twenty minutes. Sorry._  
  
Sören wondered why, but he wasn't going to press it - he knew meetings sometimes ran overtime, or there were other unexpected things. He wasn't worried. _OK, I'll take George for another walk in Queen's Square while we wait for you._  
  
Sören did in fact have a surgery that day, working on a spine, and everything went smoothly as it usually did. When the surgery was over, Colin put a hand on his shoulder for a few seconds, silently telling him it was OK.  
  
The extra time before Anthony came to pick him up was just what Sören needed, decompressing from the stress of the surgery - and the added stress of his anxiety, which he kept in check while he was operating so he didn't choke, but came flooding out when the procedure was done. Sören snapped more photos of George, and when Anthony's Audi arrived at six-twenty-five, Sören playfully skipped to the car like an overgrown child, making Anthony laugh as Sören got in.  
  
"Here," Sören said, showing Anthony pictures on his phone.  
  
"Dear god." Anthony laughed harder.  
  
Anthony had on Jamiroquai, which meant he was either in a good mood or he was in a bad mood and trying to cheer himself up, but judging from his body language and the softness in his eyes as he kept stealing glances at Sören on the way home, Sören guessed he was in a good mood. Sören leaned on Anthony and then he took out George and made the wig crawl up to rest on Anthony's shoulder, making purring noises.  
  
In the parking stall of the flat, Anthony popped the trunk and Sören put a hand on his hip, not expecting that. Sören's eyes widened and he gave a happy little gasp when Anthony handed him a bouquet of sunflowers.  
  
"You." Sören gave Anthony a playful swat with the wig; Anthony dodged, chuckling. "You thoughtful _bastard._"  
  
Anthony grinned and came closer for a kiss. Then Sören watched as Anthony took a gift bag out of the trunk. "Let's go up."  
  
"Is that why you were late?" Sören asked as they walked upstairs.  
  
Anthony nodded. "I needed to get you a little something."  
  
Sören washed his hands, put the flowers in Sprite and then he came running over to where Anthony sat on the couch, with the gift bag on the coffee table. Sören was a little out of breath when he crashed onto the couch, and Anthony caught him, reaching in Sören's pocket for his inhaler. Sören took a puff and Anthony handed him the gift bag, watching intently.  
  
Sören opened the gift bag and pulled out a mug with Pusheen wearing a unicorn horn and a rainbow mane - "Pusheenicorn!" Sören squeaked - and a T-shirt in his size with Pusheen sitting on a couch that said "Home is where my butt is."  
  
"It's just a little something, but -"  
  
Sören threw his arms around Anthony's neck and screamed "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" with giddy happiness. Anthony's cheeks flushed pink and he gave Sören that dazzling, radiant grin that took Sören's breath away each and every time. _God, he's hot._  
  
Sören rained kisses over Anthony's face, making him laugh, and finally he grabbed Sören, hugged him tight, and pulled him into a deep, hungry kiss. Sören was still not completely up for sex - today felt exhausting, between the long surgery, the staff meeting, and his ongoing angst about the patient death. But soon.  
  
They pulled back and their eyes held, and Sören's eyes misted with tears as he reached out to touch Anthony's cheek, his heart soaring, burning with love, like the phoenix on his back. _How can I love someone this much._ And yet he did, so much he felt his heart could break. Yes, it was just a little gift, but it was the thought behind it - Anthony observing Sören's love of Pusheen, the surprise, wanting to cheer him up with something cute and silly - and it meant more to Sören, so much more, than the Rolex watch and the tanzanites and sapphires in his ears. It wasn't that Anthony hadn't given those things from the heart, but it was easy enough for him to throw money around on flashy things. This came from someplace deeper, and Sören treasured it more.  
  
_I treasure you, above all._ Sören traced Anthony's lips with his fingers and thumb, before Anthony took Sören's hand and kissed it.  
  
They went out to dinner that night, as a change of pace, going to the place where they had breakfast with Trisha and Vincente a month prior, but it was just the two of them this time. Sören initially felt a twinge of irritation when they arrived, not wanting to be reminded of that breakfast, not wanting to be reminded of Trisha and Vincente, period - he had yet to tell Anthony about the bouquet that seemed very much like a warning message with Trisha's study of the language of flowers, and he doubted at this point he was going to, since he hadn't saved the evidence. But he was still reluctant to deal with the two of them, or anything that reminded him of them. And yet, here they were. Sören realized he was being unfair, Anthony didn't know the full extent of his problem with them, or that just the restaurant itself would be a bad association. And the sun had come out in the afternoon and the garden the little gingerbread cottage restaurant boasted, with al fresco seating, was blooming with spring flowers and was lovely and picturesque; Sören realized Anthony had taken him here for this reason.  
  
They got a table outside, and watched the sunset together as they ate, sharing a seafood platter and assorted appetizers. Lanterns were lit in the garden, and after their meal they took a stroll through the hedges and trees, peaceful and romantic with the golden lanterns shining in the twilight. Sören breathed deep, savoring the beauty of the garden, no longer thinking of Trisha and Vincente, but of the thoughtfulness of Anthony. As Sören leaned down to smell tulips, Anthony's arms encircled him from behind, and when he came up Anthony turned Sören's head to his and they kissed. Anthony's kisses down his neck sent a shiver through him.  
  
But Sören was still tired, and he had work early the next morning - he had to work even if Anthony did not on a Saturday. "I can't tonight," Sören whispered.  
  
Anthony just nodded, his head in the crook of Sören's neck and shoulder. "I understand, love. I don't want you to think I was demanding or doing nice things for you just to -"  
  
"I don't." Sören tilted his face to smile at him and rub noses. "You were doing nice things because you are nice." Sören kissed the tip of his nose. "And I love you."  
  
"I love you." Anthony stroked Sören's cheek. "Would you like another bubble bath when we get home? And a back rub? Just to take care of you, not..."  
  
"I'd like that." Sören bit his lower lip, and tears stung his eyes again. _My wonderful man._  
  
When they got home that was exactly what Anthony did, making tea for Sören in his new Pusheen mug, and then he took Sören in the bathroom for another candlelit bubble bath. This time they sat facing each other and after relaxing for a bit, Anthony accidentally splashed him when he wiggled his toes, which made Sören splash him back on purpose, and they got into a splash fight and at last Sören blew bubbles across the tub, giggling madly when a bubble popped on Anthony's nose as Anthony gave him a death glare, which dissolved into a grin, Anthony shaking with laughter and tearing up.  
  
Anthony worked on Sören's back again, kneading away the tension. His touch once again broke that wall around Sören's heart, and Sören found himself sobbing again. "It's all right," Anthony soothed, rubbing Sören's back in slow circles. "It's OK, love. Cry if you need to cry."  
  
Sören closed his eyes and his mind replayed the spinal surgery he'd performed earlier, a success. Then his mind replayed the death on his operating table on Wednesday. "Anthony?"  
  
"Yes, sweetheart?"  
  
"When you..." Sören exhaled sharply, not wanting to be insensitive or touch a nerve, but also needing to reach out to someone who'd fought and lost before. "When you've lost cases... not the ones you know are guilty, but where you're convinced, or at least pretty sure, the defendant is innocent... do you... do you just forget about it, or does it bother you for awhile?"  
  
"Honestly?"  
  
Sören opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder at Anthony. "Yeah, honestly."  
  
Now it was Anthony's turn to exhale. "It bothers me a lot. I can't begin to tell you how many sleepless nights I've had, mulling it over and over, thinking about how things could have been different. And it's never any use, because usually when I've lost a case it's not something I could have argued better."  
  
"So even though I have to go out there and keep fighting..."  
  
"It'll stay with you for awhile." Anthony patted Sören's shoulders and then resumed kneading them, his touch firm and deep.  
  
"Yeah. That was what I was afraid of." Sören shook his head. "I mean, I'll go in tomorrow like I usually do, but I..." Sören sighed, and the tears flowed again.  
  
"'Do right, fear no-one.'" Anthony tousled Sören's curls, leaned down to kiss his shoulder, kiss him, and then he just lay on Sören, snuggling him. "You're absolutely fucking not a bad surgeon. Remember that. What you do is _necessary._ Keep doing it. Yes, it's normal to carry the weight of what happened around with you, to keep feeling the pain and the regret and the apprehension of a possible next time. But don't let it get the upper hand of you."  
  
"I'm trying."  
  
"I know." Anthony kissed him again. "Every day that passes, you put more distance between yourself and the death on the operating table. You have more wins that prove you can do this. It never goes away completely - I can tell you the name of every person who I couldn't save - but it fades, with time."  
  
"What do I do until then?"  
  
"You hang onto me." Anthony sat up, rolled Sören over, and pulled Sören into his arms. "Hang onto me."  
  
Anthony held him all night again - it took a good while for Sören to fall asleep, crying himself exhausted, and Anthony rocked him, pet him, murmured tender little noises, kissed his tears. But finally Sören did get to sleep, all cried out. And when he woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, he saw Anthony was still awake in the glow of the nightlight, still keeping vigil over him; Anthony held out his arms for Sören to come back to when he left the bathroom, and rocked and pet Sören back to sleep. Sören woke up a couple hours later from a bad dream - reliving finding his mother's dead body - and Anthony was still awake, arms tightening around him when he felt Sören's distress. "Shhhhh, you're here, you're safe," Anthony whispered, planting a kiss on Sören's brow.  
  
"I hate this," Sören sobbed.  
  
"Shhhhh. I've got you." Anthony pulled Sören closer, held him even tighter. "I've got you."  
  
When the alarm went off on Saturday morning, Anthony swore, and rolled over into the pillows with a groan. Sören giggled as he reached to shut off the alarm, and he gave Anthony sleepy kisses.  
  
He knew Anthony was dead tired and had probably just gotten to sleep, so even though Anthony's usual custom was to work at home on a Saturday, and Anthony would drive Sören to and from work on a Saturday, Sören didn't want him to have to go to the trouble today. "I'll take the Tube there and back home," Sören said.  
  
"Are you sure? I doubt I'm going to lie in bed all day -"  
  
Sören patted him. "I'll be fine." He chuckled, feeling mischievous. "I'll take George with me. Show him how the rest of the world lives."  
  
Anthony facepalmed but also chuckled. "I'm still in disbelief that I've started playing along with you about George." And then Anthony muttered, "oh shit, no."  
  
It was too late. "Hi Still In Disbelief That I've Started Playing Along -"  
  
Anthony swatted him with a pillow. Sören squeaked and hit him back with a pillow, giggling madly, and they spent the next few minutes having a pillow fight until Anthony tossed Sören's scrubs at him and said, "You, get ready for work, or I'll be forced to give you a time out and tie you to a chair, or something."  
  
"...Like that would be so objectionable to you." Sören wiggled his eyebrows. "Or to me."  
  
Anthony turned beetroot, and flashed him a wicked grin that made Sören's stomach flutter. The gleam in his eye sent a shiver down Sören's spine. It had been long enough that Sören was starting to feel that hunger again, his mind going in places other than the death on his operating table... now more like Anthony on a table, his legs on Sören's shoulders...  
  
The playfulness of the morning - and the tender loving care of last night - kept Sören's spirits up while he was at work, and he was still feeling pretty good when he got off work, enough to take a walk through Queen's Square and admire the pretty spring flowers before he rode the Tube back. Walking from the station to their flat in the fresh air felt good, and Sören smiled and waved at children playing in the neighborhood.  
  
Sören opened the door of their flat and called, "Loo-see, I'm ho-ome," in a Ricky Ricardo voice, but Anthony wasn't at his desk. Sören washed his hands and went to the bedroom, to see if Anthony was sleeping, and he wasn't there either but there was a note on the bed:  
  
_Went for a run while the weather's good.  
  
Been thinking of you, Brown Eyes. Even though I wish it was under better circumstances, I loved holding you last night. I can't wait to hold you again as soon as I get back._  
  
Sören felt his face break into a big grin and heard a giggle bubble out of him as he picked up the piece of paper, held it to his nose to breathe Anthony's scent, and then pressed it to his heart, before tucking it in the hollow book where he kept all the other little love notes.  
  
Sören took a quick shower and changed into a T-shirt and pajama bottoms, and made tea. As he took out his new Pusheen mug he smiled at it fondly, running his finger around the rim - and immediately his mind went into the gutter, thinking about running his finger around the rim of Anthony's opening... Anthony's tongue inside him, working its sweet magic...  
  
Sören's cock started to stir. Sören walked over to the bouquet of sunflowers, feeling his heart beat faster, impatient for Anthony to get back home. Marveling at how, over the last year and a half, his love for Anthony had just gotten stronger. Some people who were afraid of commitment, of long-term relationships, feared that it would get boring over time. But what Sören felt for Anthony was deep, and growing ever deeper.  
  
And in that year and a half, they had learned each other's bodies well. Sören knew what Anthony liked - where he liked to be kissed, caressed, all of his erogenous places, the noises he made when he was pleasured. And Anthony knew what Sören liked, knew how to play him like a master playing the violin, how to make Sören fall apart, a trembling, sobbing wreck of sexual need...  
  
Sören's cock was throbbing now, craving release, craving the pleasure they had not taken from each other in days. _GET YOUR ASS HOME NOW,_ Sören screamed in his head, as if telepathy actually worked and Anthony could hear it somehow. Sören snorted at his own ridiculousness as the water boiled.  
  
It wasn't so ridiculous when, a few minutes later, Sören was sitting on the couch with his hot mug of tea and he heard his hot husband-to-be marching upstairs. Sören's cock jolted, twinging, and Sören's mouth opened when he heard the key in the lock, feeling like one of Pavlov's dogs.  
  
Anthony stepped in, wearing jogging shorts and trainers, and his grey T-shirt had sweat stains, his hair damp. "Oh, hello -"  
  
Not thinking, just feeling - _wanting_ \- Sören rose from the couch and fell on him, grabbing Anthony and pulling him in for a deep, passionate kiss. Anthony groaned as their tongues met, and instinctively thrust his hips out at Sören, shivering as Sören's fingers walked down his spine. When their mouths pulled apart, Sören began kissing Anthony's neck, breathing in the healthy, masculine smell of his sweat, and the touch of his aftershave and the natural musk of him. Anthony moaned as Sören licked his neck, and moaned again as their mouths met once more, Sören kissing him even harder. He'd had a taste and now he wanted it all. Sören's hands ran over Anthony's chest, thumb brushing a nipple through the T-shirt, pebbling it, and then slid lower to his stomach, and lower to the hard bulge Sören knew was in those shorts. Sören palmed the bulge in slow, lazy circles as they kept kissing, moaning together; Anthony leaned into Sören's touch, and when the kiss broke Anthony gave him a hungry look and whispered, "Sören..."  
  
Sören dropped to his knees, yanked down Anthony's shorts, and right then and there, a foot from the door, took Anthony's hard cock into his mouth, sucking like he was starving for it. Anthony grabbed Sören's head and moaned, trembling.  
  
"Mmmmmmhmmmmm." Sören's own cock was throbbing in response, so turned on by sucking him like this, being so shameless, so wanton.  
  
"Fuck..." Anthony gave a shuddery sigh.  
  
Sören took Anthony's cock out of his mouth to growl, "Fucking _want_ you," before he swallowed it down again, cock twinging at the gasp Anthony gave, the little cry as the shiver went through him.  
  
Sören sucked and sucked, looking up to watch Anthony's reactions, wanting Anthony to see the worship in his eyes, the _lust_ in his eyes, burning like a forest that had gone too long without rain, all dry tinder. A few days was too long. Sören felt like he was going out of his mind, wanting it as badly as he did, and first he needed to taste the man he loved, wanted to make this thoughtful, generous man explode with ecstasy.  
  
Sören sucked hard and fast, bobbing up and down, devouring him, reaching to cup and rub Anthony's balls as he sucked. He felt Anthony's balls tighten, getting closer, and even without that he could tell from the way Anthony was moaning, the ragged breath, the shivering gasps, his voice rising, not giving a damn who could pass by the door and hear them.  
  
Then Sören took Anthony's cock out of his mouth, put his tongue in the slit, licked down to the sensitive frenulum, lashing it, and licked around and around the head of Anthony's cock, giving a mischievous smile as Anthony's knees buckled and he had to hold onto Sören. "Fucking tease," Anthony growled.  
  
"Oh no. This is teasing." Sören licked up and down Anthony's cock, from the head down the shaft and back up, long, slow, deliberate strokes, and then faster ones, lashing, laving, rubbing. Anthony groaned and made a deep, guttural noise that went straight to Sören's cock, and Sören kept licking, making several rounds up and down, up and down, before swirling around the head of his cock some more, around the base of the foreskin. Sören smiled at the precum leaking and chased the flow with his tongue, slapped the head of the cock against his tongue to make streamers before sucking on just the head, rubbing his tongue as he sucked, kissing it.  
  
Sören spent the next few minutes just kissing the head of Anthony's cock, hand rubbing the shaft, until Anthony was making little cries, panting, looking desperate. Sören loved making his suave, sophisticated lawyer lose control like this, reveling in the power over him... a frisson down his spine as he knew Anthony would take that power right back and master him.  
  
Anthony's cock was in Sören's mouth again, working his tongue with his mouth full, sucking slowly, then faster. Anthony grabbed Sören's short curls and started to thrust into Sören's mouth, and Sören encouraged him, humming "Mmmmmm, mmmhmmm, mmmmm," around the throbbing cock in his mouth. At last Anthony's eyes fluttered and he ground out, "Sören. _Sören._ Oh god. Oh god, Sören, oh god..."  
  
"Mmmmmhmmmm."  
  
"Oh god, Sören, I'm gonna -" Anthony shuddered, not able to finish the sentence, throwing back his head and crying out as he spent into Sören's mouth.  
  
Sören loved the sweet-salty taste of him, savoring it, swallowing it. He lapped the slit of Anthony's cock, licking it clean, until Anthony yanked Sören's head back. "Sensitive," Anthony hissed, and then he laughed, looking radiant, euphoric. "Oh god, Sören. Oh my fucking _god._ That. Was _amazing._"  
  
"I loved that." Sören got up from his knees and kissed Anthony, letting him taste himself. "I love you."  
  
"Fuck." Anthony's arms were around Sören's waist, and he kissed Sören back. "I. Love. You."  
  
"Yeah, do you?" Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. "Come on and show me." With that, he dragged Anthony by the tail of his shirt to their bedroom.  
  
Sören stripped as soon as he got in the door, and once Anthony crossed the threshold Sören fell on him again, impatiently tugging off his jogging clothes. Anthony laughed, guiding Sören's hands along, stealing kisses here and there. "So impatient, my love."  
  
"So _hungry._" Sören's eyes locked with his. "I want you so fucking bad."  
  
Anthony grabbed Sören and kissed him, deeply, fiercely. Sören moaned as he felt their cocks press together, Anthony's cock hard and ready again. Then Anthony was walking him backwards towards the bed, still kissing, their cocks rubbing together with every step, making them moan into the kiss. Anthony gave Sören a playful shove onto the bed, and Sören, out of his mind with need, crawled to get into position - face down, ass up, wiggling his ass at Anthony.  
  
"Please. Inside me. Now," Sören begged.  
  
Anthony's breath hitched and Sören made a little whimper, shaking his ass again. He felt Anthony get on the bed behind him, and Anthony leaned over him to grab the lubricant. Sören gasped as he felt the shock of the cold liquid inside him, and then he let out a howl as he felt Anthony's cock rubbing in the crack of his ass, lubing his cock up as well as Sören's opening, teasing them both. Sören cried out again as the tip of Anthony's cock pressed against his channel, and he made a frustrated scream through grit teeth as Anthony pushed in just the tip, and back out, just the tip in, and out, tormenting him.  
  
"Fucking fuck me," Sören yelled.  
  
Anthony laughed. "So needy."  
  
"I need too much," Sören said, feeling a gnawing ache in him, an abyss that needed to be filled, _now._  
  
"Never too much," Anthony husked, and then he started to push inside.  
  
When Anthony bottomed out inside Sören he let out a deep, primal noise through clenched teeth, that sent a shiver down Sören's spine, made his hole twitch and his cock throb, aching for him. Anthony rested in him for a moment, letting them both adjust, Sören to the fullness and Anthony to the vise-like grip around him, custom fit to his cock after a year and a half of it being only him. Then Anthony took his first few thrusts, slow, teasing. "Oh god, Sören." He made that feral noise again, grabbing Sören's hips. "You feel so. _Fucking._ Good." And he slapped Sören's ass with both hands, making Sören cry out and buck against him.  
  
Anthony grabbed Sören's hips again and started to pound into him. "This is going to be hard and fast, love."  
  
"Yes. Fuck me. Hard." Sören needed hot, raw, nasty sex, needed to get out of his head for awhile and be purely physical, all pleasure, all heat.  
  
Anthony delivered, driving into him savagely, furiously, as hard as Sören had ever been fucked. Sören loved it, fists grasping the pillows, white-knuckled, trembling, howling and whimpering as he rocked back at Anthony, needing it, needing it, _needing_, almost sobbing as Anthony's cock rubbed that sweet spot in him just the right way, getting him on that edge and keeping him there, deepening and deepening the pleasure, as deep as their love, as deep as that hollow in him, needing to consume.  
  
"Oh god, please, _fuck me_," Sören cried, bucking against him, giving it back as good as he got.  
  
"Oh, Sören. Fuck, _yes_, I need you. I want you, I want this, you feel so _fucking_ good to me."  
  
"Oh god." Sören heard himself make a high-pitched whine, and another, followed by a deep, feral roar. "Oh god, your cock is so good..."  
  
And at last Sören couldn't make words at all, he could only whimper and howl and scream, Anthony responding with grunts and growls as they got closer, closer, their hips slapping together, the bed rocking against the wall. When Sören felt the pleasure in him rising, the point of no return, he found his words again, calling out "Anthony, you're gonna make me come, I'm gonna come..."  
  
Anthony slapped Sören's ass, hard, and grabbed his short curls. "Come for me."  
  
Sören screamed as he shattered, his entire body heaving as the pleasure pulsed through him. A few thrusts later Anthony cried out Sören's name as he climaxed, Sören groaning at the delicious feel of Anthony shooting inside him just before Anthony collapsed onto his back, shivering and twitching.  
  
Anthony's arms encircled Sören's shoulders, squeezing, rocking him a little. Anthony nuzzled the space between Sören's neck and shoulder, and Sören turned his face to kiss him, to rub noses with him, their eyes meeting as they smiled at each other in bliss.  
  
Then Anthony took his hands and they just lay there, Sören feeling safe and at peace with Anthony's chest on his back. "I've got you," Anthony whispered, knowingly. "I've got you."  
  
Sören dozed off, and came to a little while later to the feel of Anthony's hand on his head, idly stroking his curls, rubbing his scalp, like he was a pet cat. Sören gave a happy sigh and flexed, kneading the pillows like a cat with a "prrrp?" which made Anthony laugh.  
  
"That was awesome," Sören said.  
  
"Mmmmm, if that's what happens when I go jogging I shall have to jog more often."  
  
Sören giggled and snorted. "Well, you hot and sweaty is a turn-on for me, but it wasn't just that." Sören's voice got husky as he tilted his face to meet Anthony's eyes. "It's you. The way you look out for me, take care of me."  
  
"We take care of each other." Anthony stroked Sören's face, and kissed the top of his head.  
  
They rested together for a few minutes and then Sören said, "I got the new schedule."  
  
"Oh!"  
  
"I have next weekend off."  
  
There was a pause, and Sören could practically see the gears turning in Anthony's brain, and then Anthony said, "Do you want to go to Brighton next weekend, then?"  
  
"I'd like that a lot."  
  
"Good." Anthony squeezed him.  
  
They lay there some more, rocking together, and finally Anthony's stomach growled. Sören had another gigglefit. "Well, Mr. We Take Care Of Each Other, we should think about food. Where do you want to get takeaway, or would you like to go to dinner again?"  
  
Anthony cupped Sören's chin in his hand and gave him a wicked look. "Right now, it's you I want to eat." With that, he kissed Sören deeply, and then he rolled Sören onto his back and began to kiss his way down.  
  
  
_  
  
  
They arrived at the house in Brighton on Saturday, April twentieth. It was raining, but that was expected for April in England, and they were the sort of people who didn't mind the beach on rainy days.  
  
But when they got to the beach house, they spent the afternoon making slow, languid, sensual love, and then a nap. Later, in the late afternoon, they got out of bed and hit the beach - the rain had stopped but there was a thick fog, with swirling mists on the shingle beach under a silvery sky, a melancholy scene that reflected Sören's lingering melancholy at having lost a patient a week and a half ago.  
  
They paused on their stroll and watched the tide together, Anthony standing a little behind Sören, arms around Sören's waist. Sören tilted his face and just before they could kiss, Sören's phone went off in his cargo pants pocket. Sören cursed under his breath, hoping it wasn't work calling him in, but then his eyes widened when he saw his twin brother Dagnýr's number.  
  
"Dag! _Hvað segirðu?_"  
  
Anthony's eyes also widened with surprise. "Should I..."  
  
Sören shook his head. "Stay."  
  
"Sören, hi," Dagnýr replied in English - the careful Canadian accent that he'd practiced, living in Toronto. "Everything's fine, how are you?"  
  
"I'm OK." Sören nodded. "I'm at Brighton right now, I have a weekend off."  
  
"Oh, nice. I hope I'm not interrupting anything -"  
  
"No, you're fine. Um... what are you calling about? Is it just to say hi, or?" Sören wasn't good at small talk, even with his own family.  
  
"I am calling becaaaauuuuse..." Dag cleared his throat. "I am coming to England next month! I'm giving a TED Talk at Oxford -"  
  
Sören squeaked with happiness. "You're coming here? Really?"  
  
"Jæja, really." Even after having spent half his life away from Iceland, Dag still said "jæja", which made Sören smile fondly.  
  
"So... when are you coming?"  
  
"May," Dag said. "I'm flying into Heathrow on Friday, May tenth, and I'm going back on Saturday, May eighteenth. I can get you a ticket, or pair of tickets, to see my TED Talk at Oxford if you think you can come -"  
  
"Ooh, what's your TED Talk about?"  
  
"Oh, you know. Alternate universes."  
  
"Cool! I'll ask for that evening off. Uh, I assume it's evening."  
  
"Monday, May thirteenth." Dag chuckled. "The night before Eurovision."  
  
"Well fuck it, I'll ask for that Monday and Tuesday off, we _have_ to watch Eurovision together if you're here."  
  
Dag snorted with laughter. "The more things change..."  
  
It felt good to laugh with his brother. When they calmed down, Sören said, "I'd need a pair of tickets. I'd want to bring my, uh, fiancé, Anthony. Who you haven't met..."  
  
"Yes, I need to meet this guy. That's my other agenda for the visit, honestly, is meeting the guy you're marrying." Dag had been e-mailed about it earlier in the year. "Make sure I don't have to kill him, that sort of thing."  
  
Sören giggled. "He's good to me, Dag. But you should meet him anyway, because, you know, he's going to be family."  
  
"OK!"  
  
"Hey, do you want us to pick you up at Heathrow? I mean, it depends on what time you're flying in -"  
  
"Friday the tenth at seven PM. Yeah, if you guys wanted to do dinner or something..."  
  
Sören glanced over at Anthony. "He's flying in on Friday the tenth, in the evening..."  
  
"We can do that." Anthony nodded.  
  
"We can do that," Sören repeated back to Dag, feeling giddy already.  
  
"Great. OK, well, I won't keep you, but, uh, I'm looking forward to seeing you again," Dag said.  
  
"Me too. It's been too long." They hadn't seen each other in five years.  
  
There was an awkward pause, and then Dag finally said it. "Love you."  
  
"_Elska þig líka._"  
  
Sören sighed as he ended the call, feeling unexpectedly emotional. Anthony saw him getting choked up and put an arm around Sören. "You OK?" he asked.  
  
Sören nodded. "Yeah, just..." He gave a sad smile. "It's been five years since..."  
  
"Wow." Anthony's eyes widened. Then he kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "Well, we'll have to make this visit count, I guess."  
  
"I guess so."  
  
Anthony chuckled, shaking his head. "You guys are going to watch Eurovision?"  
  
Sören nodded, grinning through his tears. "And he's giving a TED Talk at Oxford the night before..."  
  
Anthony gave an impressive low whistle. "I'm not really a science guy, but I'd still be interested -"  
  
Sören nodded. "He's good at making science interesting and accessible to people who don't do science."  
  
"He must not have that much of a stick up his arse, if he's going to watch Eurovision with you."  
  
Sören giggled, and then he spun Anthony around. They hugged each other tightly, and when Sören rested his head on Anthony's shoulder, Anthony tapped him and pointed up, and he saw a rainbow in the clouds.  
  
"Make a wish," Anthony said.  
  
"That's not very scientific," Sören teased.  
  
"Make a fucking wish, Sören."  
  
Sören closed his eyes. _I wish for us to be together, always._ Sören thought of his brother's theory of parallel universes. _Everywhere._  
  
And then Anthony kissed his brow. "What did you wish for?"  
  
"If I tell you, it won't come true."  
  
Anthony made a face, and Sören couldn't resist ribbing him a little more. "Well, you did say _make a fucking wish_, so my wish sort of involved that."  
  
Anthony's laughter rang out, echoing over the waves. "You're incorrigible."  
  
"_Takk._"  
  
Their eyes met. "Don't ever change." Anthony stroked Sören's face, and then he cracked a teasing grin. "Stay gold, Ponyboy."  
  
"...I don't think cum is gold."  
  
Anthony facepalmed and howled.


	36. Star-Crossed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And suddenly a wild Finrod appears...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The speech Dag gives in his TED Talk is the exact same one he gives in the one-shot [_Flash the Message, Something's Out There_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18416777) set in the _Northern Lights_ verse.
> 
> I took some liberties with the event timeline of Eurovision 2013, since this is an alternate universe from our own (and others).
> 
> (PS I am also of Norwegian descent so please don't take the crack about Norway's Eurovision entry too much to heart if you're from there, jeg elsker Norge. 💗 )

"DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAG."  
  
Sören giggled madly as he flew into his fraternal twin brother's waiting arms and Dagnýr spun him around and around. Anthony held back a few meters, watching as Sören and Dag held each other tight and spun until Sören was dizzy, and then Dag gave him a squeeze and they pulled back, breathing harder, Dag's hands on Sören's shoulders while they looked at each other face-to-face for the first time in five years.  
  
Dag was still very much as Sören remembered him, changing little in the last five years - short black hair threatening to curl if it grew out, with an unruly cowlick. Piercing grey eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses - their mother's eyes. An oval, "boy next door" face with a generous mouth and dimples when he smiled. A perpetual growth of five o'clock shadow. Dag was wearing a heather grey hoodie over a blue plaid flannel shirt, unbuttoned over a sky blue T-shirt, and faded jeans, with dark brown Timberland boots. He was wheeling a black Samsonite suitcase, and had a University of Toronto duffel bag slung over one shoulder.  
  
Sören's eyes misted, a tight ache in his chest. It had been five years. They had been so close as children, then the distance started after Dag was admitted to Oxford at age fourteen, a child prodigy. Even as a neurosurgeon, Sören felt eclipsed by his brother, the famous scientist, and yet it was impossible to hate him because Dag was a very warm, down-to-earth person. Nonetheless, Dag and their cousin Ari had gotten into enough heated arguments about science versus spirituality that Sören felt put in the middle - Sören was an atheist but he didn't appreciate Dag's vitriol, nor did he want to seem disloyal to his twin brother in favoring his cousin - and then after their sister was murdered things got even more strained. This visit was the hope of repairing that relationship, finally, maybe a chance at going back to the closeness they had once known, where Dag wasn't just his brother, but his best friend. Maybe could even convince him to be nicer to Ari. Sören _missed_ Dag. _Don't cry,_ Sören told himself, not wanting to fall apart in Heathrow with so many people around. _Don't cry. Don't cry._  
  
Dag's eyes were too bright as well, his jaw trembling a little as he smiled, and then his eyes widened as he got a better look at Sören, his smile fading as he studied him. "You cut your hair," Dag said, and though he tried to keep his expression neutral there was a faint touch of disapproval in his voice.  
  
"Jæja." Sören ran a nervous hand through his short curls. "I'm... I'm really not used to it. Trying to grow it back out again."  
  
"I see." Dag pursed his lips.  
  
Then his eyes narrowed slightly when Sören motioned for Anthony to come toward them, as if he was holding Anthony responsible for the haircut.  
  
Sören swallowed hard, and took a deep breath. "Dag, this is my fiancé, Anthony Hewlett-Johnson. Anthony, this is my twin brother, Dagnýr."  
  
Anthony took Dag's hand and shook it. "It's nice to meet you, Dagnýr."  
  
"Please, call me Dag," Dag said, patting Anthony on the arm with his free hand, though there was still a tightness around his eyes.  
  
Sören and Dag were fraternal twins, and a year ago, when Sören began kinky roleplaying with Anthony, he'd made the observation that Dag looked more like Anthony's brother than his - not that Sören was attracted to his own brother, but it was simply a fact. That observation was even more true now as Sören saw them side-by-side. They didn't look exactly alike, Anthony was more "leading man" classically handsome, but they definitely looked related, with a similar boyishness, and though Sören had prepared Anthony for that fact a year ago, Anthony's face still registered slight surprise, Dag responding with an eyebrow going up but otherwise saying nothing about it.  
  
Dag then looked at Sören and Anthony together, sizing them up. Sören was wearing a red plaid flannel shirt open over a Nine Inch Nails "Pretty Hate Machine" T-shirt, and indigo jeans, with his usual Doc Martens. Anthony was wearing a navy blue cashmere sweater, black jeans, and the same pointy black boots he had worn on his first date with Sören; Anthony was also wearing his Rolex watch, which Dag's eyes focused on for a few seconds. Sören's short curls were messy, and Anthony's black hair was carefully combed and gelled. Though Sören had a haircut in March, he still kept his facial hair, and Anthony was clean-shaven, smooth from a straight razor. Sören had the tanzanite and sapphire studs in his ears, the bottom edge of Sören's sleeve tattoos showed on his wrists, and Anthony had no tattoos or piercings. They were a contrast of opposites, and not even as opposite as they could be - at the last minute, Anthony had decided against wearing a blazer to pick up Dag at Heathrow, in favor of something more comfortable.  
  
"I have reservations for us at a seafood restaurant and traffic is always pretty bad around here," Anthony said, "so if this is everything..."  
  
Dag nodded. "This is everything, I travel as light as possible."  
  
"Right, let's be on our way."  
  
They were quiet to and through the carport; Sören kept stealing glances at his twin, scarcely able to believe that after so long, Dag was right here in the flesh. Sören had worked today, from five AM to three PM, and Dag looked as tired as he felt. Instinctively, not thinking about it, Sören put a hand on Dag's shoulder when the Audi was in sight, and Dag gave him a weary smile.  
  
"_Það er svo gott að sjá þig aftur,_" Sören said, the heightened emotion pushing him back to their native language.  
  
"_Þú líka._" Dag paused and gave him another tight hug.  
  
When they pulled apart, Sören saw Dag's eyes brimming with tears, threatening to spill over, which made Sören's jaw tremble in turn, and even though there were fewer people in the carport, Sören still didn't want to break down and cry. Not yet.  
  
Anthony pressed a button on his keyring, unlocking the Audi, headlights flashing on and off as they approached. Dag let out a low whistle when they stopped at Anthony's charcoal grey Audi A7. "Nice car," he said.  
  
"Thank you," Anthony said. "I got it as a present to myself after I'd been at Lincoln's Inn for a year." Anthony gave a sheepish grin. "Before that I was driving just a Lexus. One that my father bought me when I was seventeen."  
  
Dag's eyebrow shot up, and Sören knew exactly what Dag was thinking, because he was thinking it too: _"just a Lexus"._ As if a Lexus wasn't itself a luxury brand, only slightly less prestigious than an Audi. Sören felt a vague prickle of irritation. _And whose father buys them_ a Lexus _when they're seventeen._  
  
Sören loved Anthony, but sometimes his overprivilegedness was a bit grating.  
  
"Well," Dag said, "I drive just a Prius. Better for the environment, and all."  
  
_"Just a Prius."_ The subtle snark was not lost on Sören, and he felt another twinge of apprehension, hoping that Dag, the scientist, wasn't going to get preachy about environmentalism while he was visiting. It wasn't that Sören or Anthony didn't care about climate change and other environmental issues, but Sören worried Dag would lecture them when he saw the way they lived and Anthony would resent it, especially from someone younger than him.  
  
After Dag's suitcase and duffel bag was put in the trunk, Sören offered the passenger seat but Dag got in back. Once Anthony started the car, Sören put on the R&B playlist and selected a song by Drake, "Find Your Love". "Here, something to help you feel at home," Sören said, referencing the fact that Drake was from Toronto.  
  
Dag laughed. "Awwww, _takk._"  
  
"Do you have enough leg room back there?" Anthony asked.  
  
"I'm fine," Dag said.  
  
"All right."  
  
When they got on the road, the silence between the three men was deafening. Even though Sören liked the music on the playlist, and normally being quiet in the car wasn't a problem - Sören liked to zone out and decompress on car trips, something Anthony understood, and Sören likewise understood when others needed quiet time - he still felt awkward that his own brother was here and he was terrible at small talk. And yet, Sören needed to say something. Anything.  
  
"Jæja," Sören said.  
  
"Jæja," Dag replied.  
  
"...Jæja."  
  
"Jæja."  
  
"Jæja?"  
  
"Jæja..."  
  
Anthony's lips quirked at the back-and-forth, and then he gave a small clear of his throat. "How was your flight, Dag?"  
  
"Not bad," Dag said.  
  
"Did you take a non-stop from Toronto, or..."  
  
"Actually, I had a layover in Reykjavik. I got coffee with Ari."  
  
Sören felt his eyebrows shoot up and his jaw dropped. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"  
  
Dag chuckled.  
  
"So you guys, like, didn't kill each other or anything?" Sören asked, genuinely curious.  
  
"The visit was fine, Sören. I've mellowed out a bit. Of course, being called a 'pseudoscience huckster' in a public debate with Richard Dawkins on Twitter made me eat some humble pie," Dag said.  
  
Anthony cocked his head to one side.  
  
Sören knew he was missing context, and explained, "Dag is a scientist, and our cousin Ari, ah... he's a personal trainer in Reykjavik but he, ah."  
  
"He's a practicing witch and he does Reiki and stuff like that," Dag said. "He was wearing a big-ass quartz crystal when we were out to coffee."  
  
"And why does Richard Dawkins think you're..." Anthony's voice trailed off.  
  
"I believe in aliens," Dag said, "and I have theories that they've visited Earth, a long time ago."  
  
There was another awkward pause, while Jamiroquai's "Space Cowboy" started on the playlist as if someone was controlling the playlist with their mind. Anthony's eyes met Sören's, as if he were searching for the right thing to say, and then Anthony said, "Well, as a lawyer, I'm trained to look at all sides of an issue, and I think as strange as that belief sounds, it's also equally strange to insist that there is a hard zero chance alien life has ever been in contact with Earth in ancient times. It's impossible to _know_ that for a fact, Dawkins may be an old man but he wasn't there."  
  
"Exactly," Dag said. "I'm absolutely willing to admit the possibility that I may be wrong. In fact, I _welcome_ someone being able to definitively prove me wrong, because that means technological advancements we don't have now, and..." Dag gave a nervous chuckle. "Anyway, one of my theories is that aliens are responsible for human religions, and they weren't necessarily doing it for benevolent reasons. I agree 100% with Dawkins that religion is a cancer and humanity's continued survival depends on outgrowing it, but he doesn't see we're really on the same side. It's unfortunate, not just in and of itself, but it makes certain events awkward because we have mutual acquaintances and friends in common."  
  
"Stephen Hawking was his doctoral advisor's doctoral advisor," Sören said. "So he can say Stephen Hawking is like his grandpa."  
  
Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Impressive."  
  
"Neil Degrasse Tyson is a personal friend of his," Sören went on. "He's been on Tyson's show... They wrote a book together."  
  
"Jæja, I brought, ah, an autographed copy for you guys," Dag said. Sören looked in the rearview and saw Dag shift in his seat; he still wasn't comfortable with being a famous scientist. "Incidentally, it's about pseudoscience, and debunking popular pseudoscientific theories and claims. Not that I think you guys buy into any of that... but anyway." Dag gave another nervous chuckle, and Sören felt a vague sense of unease, thinking about the dreams he and Anthony shared, where it felt very much like 'the other' and something Dag would likely think was bunk. "Ari and I called a truce a few months ago - he reached out to me when he saw me getting flamed on Twitter - and we agreed to not discuss certain subjects. Ari actually agrees with my theory that the 'gods' humanity worships are bad - he practices magic as a way of 'unlocking human potential', no deities involved. It's just that I think that the idea of magic and so-called 'psychic phenomena' is also harmful superstition that's still holding humanity back, but... I decided we can just agree to disagree on that subject. So we're. You know. Getting on better these days."  
  
"That's good," Sören said. "What did you guys talk about instead?"  
  
"Your wedding." Dag laughed again, this time with amusement rather than anxiety. "We want to know which one of us is going to be your best man, Sören."  
  
Sören ran a nervous hand through his short curls and rubbed his beard. "Oh god. We, ah. We haven't talked about that yet."  
  
"Really? It's the middle of May and you guys are getting married in, what, November?"  
  
"Yes," Anthony said. "But I wasn't thinking our ceremony would be entirely traditional anyway, since we're two men getting married... not a bride and groom..."  
  
"And I don't have anyone to give me away," Sören said. "And it would feel shitty trying to choose between you and Ari for a best man."  
  
"Yeah, I wouldn't feel right trying to choose between one of the guys," Anthony said, referring to his friends.  
  
Sören bit back a groan, and the stabby feeling he got at the thought of Vincente being Anthony's best man and Trisha being forced on him as maid of honor. _Fuck that shit._ "And I mean, I like Colin, but we're... like... work friends. Not someone I call at three in the morning when I'm replaying the death on my operating table last month, in my head."  
  
"You're still thinking about that?" Anthony gave Sören a concerned look.  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
"I can't blame you." Anthony sighed. "I occasionally think about cases long since over, that still bother me."  
  
"Anyway, to answer your question, it sounds like we're not having a best man," Sören said, needing to change the subject.  
  
Anthony nodded. "Just a very simple ceremony, in front of friends and family and some colleagues." Anthony grinned. "The reception, though..."  
  
Sören grinned back. "We better have karaoke. I want to see people make asses of themselves." He gave Anthony a playful poke. "That means you."  
  
Anthony laughed. "We'll see."  
  
"Where are you guys going for your honeymoon?" Dag asked.  
  
"Switzerland." Sören closed his eyes and his breath hitched at the memory of the breathtaking winter landscape last November, and how magical the Alps were, how romantic the hotel was... "We went there for my birthday last year. I fucking _loved_ it."  
  
"Holy shit, wow. _I've_ never even been to Switzerland and I've seen a lot of Europe now, giving presentations for conferences and whatnot." Sören watched Dag shake his head in the rearview mirror, and then Dag went on, "I've been to South Africa and Australia each a couple times too. _Gorgeous._ You should go one of these days if you haven't."  
  
"So you drive 'just a Prius' and you fly around the world a lot, at least a few times a year, no?" Anthony had that predatory look in his eye like Dag was a prosecution witness, the dangerous courtroom smile. "Isn't that increasing your carbon footprint quite a bit?"  
  
_Oh shit. He caught the snide tone in Dag's comment and now the Shark is out for blood._ And Sören knew from watching Dag's history of arguing with Ari - and hearing about his legendary feud with former friend Richard Dawkins - that it was unlike Dag to back down from a challenge. Sören felt the pit of his stomach rising. He'd had such high hopes for this visit and already he could feel them threatening to crash down, and...  
  
There was the long, awkward pause, Anthony waiting for Dag to make his move. Sören braced himself.  
  
Dag surprised Sören with what came next. "You're absolutely right," Dag said. "I try to justify it to myself by saying the good I do for the scientific community in giving these talks offsets the cost of the carbon of flying so much, but it really doesn't. Sometimes I need to be called out to do better, so..." Dag chuckled. "Thanks for the little lecture, _Dad_."  
  
Anthony's eyes widened but then Anthony laughed too, and gave a genuine smile, seemingly disarmed by Dag's response. "So if you stop flying as much because of my challenge..." Anthony's smile got bigger. "Does that mean you're grounded?"  
  
Sören facepalmed, groaning aloud. Dag laughed harder. "I'm too old for that shit," Dag said.  
  
Anthony's eyes met Sören's, and Sören knew immediately what was coming. "Hi Too Old For That Shit," Anthony said. "I'm Dad."  
  
"OH MY GOD SÖREN, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM," Dag yelled.  
  
The response came out before Sören could stop himself, losing his brain-to-mouth filter in the flood of relief that Dag and Anthony weren't going to fight over this... yet. "Things you probably don't want to hear about your 'dad' doing," Sören said with a wicked grin.  
  
"I'M DONE WITH BOTH OF YOU," Dag teased.  
  
"Hi Done With Both Of You," Sören and Anthony said in unison.  
  
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO," Dag wailed.  
  
Sören was glad that, even though the seafood restaurant where Anthony had reservations was more upmarket, there were plenty of patrons in T-shirts and jeans so Sören and Dag didn't stick out too much. Still, Dag gave an incredulous look around at the expensive wooden tables and the heavy glass partitions and the leather-bound menus, and gawped when they were seated and he had a look at the menu.  
  
Anthony noticed, and said, "Order whatever you want, I'm paying."  
  
Dag scowled. "That isn't necessary. I mean, I can afford it, I just -"  
  
"I was going to insist on paying anyway, since you'll be family soon," Anthony said, in a tone that strongly suggested Dag shouldn't argue with him. Then Anthony flagged a waiter and said, "A bottle of Louis Roederer Brut, please."  
  
_Show off._ Sören resisted the urge to kick Anthony under the table. He understood that, to Anthony's way of thinking, Dag hobnobbed with famous scientists and possibly even some government officials and was likely used to the wining and dining involved, and Anthony needed to "prove" he could "take care" of Dag's brother. But Sören wished Anthony would also realize Dag lived under his aunt and uncle's roof until the age of fourteen, knew the same poverty that Sören did, and just like Sören he hadn't forgotten his roots, even if he was a little more at ease with the high rollers than Sören was. Dag was still the same dorky, awkward kid Sören remembered, and trying to impress him would potentially backfire and have the opposite effect.  
  
But, Dag and Sören both appreciated good food, and they relaxed a little when the food arrived. Sören had a surf-and-turf platter and immediately tore into his shrimp, while Dag worked thoughtfully on his salmon. Anthony stole a few shrimp from Sören's plate, and Sören stole a crab cake, smiling at him indulgently. Anthony dipped a fry in cocktail sauce and fed it to Sören, booping Sören's nose as Sören nibbled on it.  
  
Dag chuckled, rolling his eyes. "You guys are so gross."  
  
"_Takk_," Sören said.  
  
Dag laughed harder. "But you guys look happy, which is good to see." His eyes met Sören's. "I know you weren't happy, for a long time."  
  
Anthony put an arm around Sören and tilted Sören's face to his. "Your brother makes me very happy," Anthony told Dag, "and I love him very much." Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose, making Sören crinkle his nose and bite his lower lip, giggling, before he kissed Anthony's nose in return. "I hope I make him happy too."  
  
"You do." Sören stroked Anthony's cheek and sighed as he looked into those green eyes, gazing at him with adoration. Then Sören looked at Dag. "Anthony has been very good to me... and good for me." Sören wolfed down a shrimp, and gave one example. "He encouraged me to let other people see my art, so I, ah, had an art show in March, at a gallery."  
  
"Really?" Dag's eyebrows shot up, and he nodded.  
  
"I have another show in July," Sören said.  
  
"Oh, man, I won't be able to make that," Dag said.  
  
"Oh... it's OK. I know you're, ah. Busy." Sören felt a twinge of disappointment, wishing his brother could be there to encourage him. He felt another twinge, thinking of the way Jack, Trisha and Vincente blew off the show.  
  
"Maybe you could schedule the show after your next one for when I have some time available. We have spring break in March 2014..."  
  
That felt like forever, but Sören also knew Dag had the kind of schedule where he had to book things months in advance, between teaching at the University of Toronto and the lecture circuit. "I'll see what I can do," Sören said. _By then Anthony and I will be married._ That thought filled Sören with a warm glow. "But while you're here, I can show you my portfolio in the meantime."  
  
"You should do that," Anthony said, nodding. Then he blushed and said, "Well, minus a few pictures."  
  
Sören almost choked on his champagne. "Yes, obviously he doesn't need to see those."  
  
"Oh god." Dag facepalmed.  
  
"So what about you?" Sören swirled the champagne around in his glass. "Are you bringing a plus one to the wedding?"  
  
Dag looked at Sören like he'd suddenly grown a second head, and then he laughed bitterly. "Not likely."  
  
"You're not seeing anyone, no?"  
  
"No, not since things went pear-shaped with Sarah."  
  
"Oh my _god_, Dag, that was years ago." Sören scowled. "Don't tell me you're still broken up over her -"  
  
"Well, I mean, I loved her, don't get me wrong, but it's more over _how_ things fell apart." Dag frowned. "The basic schedule incompatibility. Love isn't enough to keep it together when you never see the person. I know that my schedule isn't really conducive to partnership, so I've been single all this time."  
  
"Wow." And then Sören felt a stab of guilt, thinking about all the hours he worked, and how hard it must be on Anthony, even though thus far they had made things work. How he had been single before Anthony in no small part due to his ridiculous schedule. Then Sören tried to be optimistic, wanting the best for his brother. "Maybe you'll meet someone at the wedding. Maybe a long-distance relationship might be a better starter so you can ease someone into the scheduling weirdness..."  
  
Dag shrugged. "I wouldn't count on it, but who knows."  
  
"If I had any female friends who were single I'd offer to introduce you," Anthony said, and then, glancing at Sören and remembering Sören was technically bi, he added, "or queer male friends, if, um..."  
  
"Yes, I'm bi like my brother," Dag said, nodding.  
  
Anthony couldn't resist; Sören knew Anthony was going to go there before it came out. "Hi Bi Like My Brother -"  
  
Dag gave Sören a mock threatening glare. "Sören, the day of reckoning will come for your corrupting influence."  
  
"I was already corrupt," Anthony said, before nibbling on a crab cake.  
  
"I thought you were Anthony," Sören said.  
  
Dag covered his face with his hands and made noises.  
  
Then Anthony's cell phone went off and Sören felt like screaming in frustration, wishing for once Anthony would turn his phone off when they went out somewhere. He understood why Anthony always had his phone on - work - but it was a Friday night and it was unlikely someone would be calling him about work at this hour. _If it's one of his friends, and especially if it's fucking Trisha or Vincente..._ Sören tried to keep the irritation out of his face and body language.  
  
But then Anthony's eyes widened as he checked the incoming number and swiped to accept. "Mum, hi!" A nervous little laugh. Sören heard Elaine's voice, muffled. "I'm at dinner, what's going on?" Another burst from Elaine, and Anthony said, "Yes, Sören's brother Dag is here, he made it safely."  
  
Now it was Sören's turn to facepalm, laughing fondly. Anthony had let Elaine know Dag was coming and even though the two had never met, Sören was family enough to Elaine that Elaine worried about Sören's family by extension.  
  
"Oh, I see. OK, let me run it by them while they're here." Anthony held the phone away and glanced at Dag. "My mum would like to invite you to Sunday dinner. We can pick you up at your hotel or another spot if -"  
  
"Oh, that's... that's very nice of her, _takk_," Dag said. "Might as well meet my, uh... aunt-in-law."  
  
"Aunt-and-uncle-in-law," Anthony corrected. "My dad will be there too."  
  
"It's too bad he can't meet your grandmother," Sören said, wondering what Anthea was up to right now.  
  
"Oh _god._" Anthony turned beetroot, and Sören knew what he was thinking - that incident at Christmas where Anthea had asked when Anthony was going to put a baby in Sören. Anthony got back on the phone with his mother. "Yes, we're on for Sunday. All right, six PM? ...OK, thank you. See you then. Yes, love you too, bye."  
  
"I have to work tomorrow," Sören reminded Dag, frowning apologetically. "But I have Sunday off..."  
  
"It's OK." Dag nodded. "I was going to take tomorrow to decompress from the flight and catch up with a couple folks in the area. Sunday dinner sounds good, though."  
  
"His mum is great," Sören said. "I like her very much."  
  
"That's good to hear." Dag sipped his champagne. "That's... important." Then Dag gave a little frown. "Should I bring anything? Uh..."  
  
"Just yourself," Anthony said. "And be prepared for her to feed you really, really well. We're usually taking leftovers home."  
  
It started raining on the ride to Dag's hotel, but Sören still got out of the car to give Dag a hug when they pulled up. It had been too long, and Sören clung. Dag held him tight, rocking him a little.  
  
On the way to their place in Kingston, Sören zoned out to the R&B playlist and the sound of the rain and the windshield wipers, until Anthony tapped him.  
  
"Your brother is interesting," Anthony said.  
  
Sören laughed. "That's one way of putting it." Then Sören raised an eyebrow, feeling a mixture of curiosity and concern. "Interesting good, or Chinese curse interesting?"  
  
"Yes," Anthony said.  
  
Sören laughed, harder.  
  
But then Anthony went on, "I feel like... I already know him, somehow. It's hard to explain."  
  
"Well... you did see that sketch of him back when we were in Paris, and he and I aren't that different and you live with me, so..."  
  
"I'd normally say that was it, but it's... I don't know. It sounds daft." Anthony gave a sheepish grin. "Maybe we were in the same room once when he was visiting London or something. I don't know."  
  
"Hmmm."  
  
Sören splashed in puddles once they got out of the car, like an overgrown kid, making Anthony laugh. He was drenched enough that he started undressing as soon as they got upstairs, and Anthony dragged him off to the shower. After lathering each other and rinsing off together, Anthony slammed Sören against the shower wall, lifting Sören's arms and pinning his wrists much the same as he'd done on their first night together, which felt like ages ago now. Anthony kissed and nipped at Sören's neck, and then he rasped, "Now it's time for you to visit your other brother."  
  
Sören's cock jolted at that - it was so wrong and yet so right. Sören moaned as Anthony's hard cock bumped up against his, their cocks rubbing together as they kissed deeply.  
  
"I love you, _bróðir minn_," Sören husked, looking into Anthony's eyes, green like emeralds.  
  
"I love you." Anthony kissed him again. "Let me show you."  
  
He let go of Sören's wrists and Sören threw his arms around him, kissing him back with all the fire in him. They kissed all the way to the bedroom, and as soon as they got on the bed Sören spread for him, arched to him, aching to play that wicked game of roleplaying brothers, kinkier now more than ever.  
  
  
_  
  
  
It rained all day Saturday, and the rain let up when Sören and Anthony arrived at Anthony's parents' house in Blackheath at six PM Sunday, with Dag in tow.  
  
Roger answered the door, wearing a burgundy cardigan and khakis. "Roger, Dad, this is my brother Dagnýr. Dag, this is my father-in-law-to-be, Roger Hewlett-Johnson," Sören said.  
  
Roger shook Dag's hand. "Hello, it's nice to meet you."  
  
"Likewise," Dag said.  
  
"Come in, come in."  
  
Dag followed them into the greatroom, and Elaine came out of the kitchen. She paused, and smiled at Dag with such warmth that it made Sören ache. _The mother I never had._  
  
"You must be Dag." Elaine's rich contralto filled the room. She was wearing a black cashmere sweater and charcoal grey trousers, with akoya pearls dangling from her ears and a matching akoya pearl pendant on a delicate chain. She put on her glasses to get a better look, then walked over and took Dag's hand in hers. "Hi, I'm Elaine."  
  
"A pleasure," Dag said.  
  
Then Elaine dragged Dag up off the couch and hugged him, and Dag laughed with surprise, hugging her back.  
  
"Tea?" Elaine offered. "Dinner's going to be awhile, but some banana bread while you wait? It's fresh from the oven."  
  
Dag's mouth made a little "o" and he nodded enthusiastically.  
  
Elaine went back to the kitchen and returned with tea and warm banana bread. Sören could have died of happiness at the melt-in-your-mouth treat, leaning on Anthony. There was the usual chat between Elaine, Roger and Anthony of their respective weeks, and then Elaine asked Sören the customary question of how his week had been, and Sören made his usual tired noise which made Elaine chuckle and pat him. "Poor dear," Elaine said. Then Elaine turned to Dag. "I hear you have a presentation at Oxford tomorrow."  
  
"I do," Dag said. "It's a TED Talk, so it'll be on YouTube at some point."  
  
"Oh, lovely, I shall have to watch it when it's available," Elaine said. "What is it about...?"  
  
"Alternate universes." Dag sipped his tea. "You don't have to watch it if it's not going to interest you -"  
  
"Oh no, that's _fascinating._" Elaine sounded sincere, and knowing Elaine all this time, Sören had no doubt she was actually sincere. Anthony's love of learning came from somewhere, and it wasn't his father - Sören liked Roger, but Roger knew what he knew and he was content to occupy his little corner of the universe. "Sometimes, when I think about all the problems going on in the world, it comforts me to know there might be better worlds than these, that don't have the same problems."  
  
"Or they traded one set of problems for another, more like," Roger gruffed into his tea.  
  
Elaine gave Roger that _oh, you_ look while Anthony rolled his eyes. But then Dag said, "Yes, much more like that," and nodded. "If you consider that there's probably an infinite number of universes, and some might only have small differences between them, while others are radically different... well, the possibilities are really endless... and rather disturbing to think about. It's the sort of thing that keeps me up at night."  
  
"Right," Elaine said, clapping her hands together; Sören got the distinct sense Elaine had made that exact gesture when Anthony asked "why" too many times as a child. "Who would like some scotch or cognac or brandy?"  
  
Anthony limited himself to one shot of Hennessy since he was driving. Sören didn't care much for scotch or cognac or brandy so he declined; Dag and Roger both had shots of Auchentoshan and Elaine had a shot of apple brandy. Sören continued to mellow out, eating banana bread, drinking tea and listening to Dag tell Elaine and Roger and Anthony about what it was like in Toronto; every now and again he glanced over at Elaine and saw she was hanging onto every word, as if Dag were a long-lost family member come home. It made him smile a little, that Elaine had already practically adopted Dag. She was just like that.  
  
Dag became more animated as the whisky kicked in and he recounted how he'd started at University of Toronto. "I was terrified of my first class, so I decided to put on one of those fake glasses, fake nose, fake mustache disguises so that way I could just get over with looking ridiculous... and the very first line I ever spoke to students was 'Sometimes the universe makes about as much sense as my face does right now.'"  
  
Elaine laughed, and raised her glass to Sören. "I see a sense of humor runs in your family."  
  
"Well, you kind of have to have one in the sciences, I think," Dag said. "I was one of the scientists who worked on the Large Hadron Collider - the thing that a lot of people thought was going to destroy the world. So a lot of us joked about it. 'Time to try to destroy the world again,' was a common refrain."  
  
"Terrible," Elaine said. "I like it."  
  
Sören chuckled, and then he gave a small sigh, remembering their childhood in Akureyri, and the way they used to make each other laugh to cope with the horror they were living in. Dag's eyes met his, and Sören had a feeling then Dag was probably thinking the same thing. And as Dag's face lit up while he talked about his misadventures as a scientist and a professor, Sören was reminded of the boy Dag had been. It was comforting to see that as much as things had changed, other things still stayed the same.  
  
Dinner was a roast chicken and a side of herbed potatoes, carrots and squash. Dag complimented the meal profusely, until Elaine said, "Oh, it's simple, really."  
  
"I don't get to eat home cooking often," Dag said. "I'm not much of a cook."  
  
Elaine gave him a sad look. "Whenever you're in England, consider yourself welcome to eat with us, whether or not Sören and Anthony come with you." She reached over and patted his arm.  
  
"Awwww, thank you." Dag smiled, showing his dimples. When Elaine reached out to pinch his cheek, Sören almost spat his chicken, shaking with silent laughter. Dag glared across the table at Sören, who stuck his tongue out, and then Elaine said, "Children, behave."  
  
"I hope you do get some vegetables in your diet even if you're not cooking," Elaine said, her tone motherly, scolding and concerned.  
  
"Oh, yeah, I mean, that's important," Dag said. "I usually bring a yogurt and something like baby carrots with me to work." Dag waved his fork around, which had squash on it. "I don't eat a lot of squash, but this is fantastic, this makes me want to eat squash more often."  
  
"Then I hope you come during the summer," Elaine said. "We grow more herbs than vegetables but we do grow squash in the garden, so we have fresh courgettes in the summer."  
  
"Unfortunately my summer's all booked up," Dag said.  
  
"That's a shame. Sören has an art show in July..."  
  
Dag sighed. "I know."  
  
"Mum, please don't guilt trip him," Anthony said.  
  
"Sorry." Elaine frowned into her water. "It was more of a hope that Sören could see his family more often... and I'd like to get to know Sören's family better, too. His family is our family now, and all."  
  
"Don't mind Mum, she adopts everyone," Anthony said.  
  
"I do not," Elaine said. "There's not really an 'everyone' to adopt, anyway. You never bring any of your friends over..." Elaine sniffed and sipped her water, as if she realized she'd hit a nerve.  
  
_Yeah, I wonder why that is._ Sören got the feeling Anthony's friends would be bored by "hanging out with the old folks", and it would probably be mutual, even as Elaine and Roger were more comfortable with money and status than Sören was. Sören had the sense that Elaine wouldn't like Trisha at all.  
  
"Would you like to see the garden, Dag?" Roger asked, knowing to change the subject. "Anthony helps me in the garden on weekends."  
  
"It's good for the soul," Anthony said, and then quickly added, "Well, as a figure of speech."  
  
Dag chuckled. "Don't worry, I knew what you meant."  
  
After dinner, Sören did the dishes and Anthony helped him load the dishwasher while Elaine, Roger and Dag sat in the greatroom, then once the dishwasher was loaded and running, Dag followed Roger, Elaine, Anthony and Sören into the garden just in time to watch the sunset. Dag's eyes widened and a grin lit up his face as he looked around and saw the flowers blooming, the herbs in leaf, the vegetables sprouting, everything vibrant and lushly green in spring.  
  
"This is a lovely garden," Dag said sincerely. "It's a lovely place, in general. Your house is really nice..."  
  
"I designed the house," Elaine said.  
  
"Did you?"  
  
Elaine nodded. "Would you like to take a tour after we've sat out here for a bit?"  
  
"Yes, please."  
  
They had lemonade as they sat and watched the sunset in the garden, the sky a riot of pinks, orange and violets in soft blue that deepened. Anthony kept an arm around Sören, gently stroking his back, and then Anthony got up, took the watering can from where it was resting on a stone, and began to make the rounds, watering the plants. Lingering at each one. In his mind's eye Sören saw Anthony as the silver-gold man from his dreams, golden light streaming from his hands, shimmering into plants, hearing the plants chime as if singing, watching the plants grow right before his eyes, thriving in loving care. Here and now, Anthony seemed to burn in the sunset, and the plants swayed back and forth gently in the breeze. If Sören didn't know better he would think Anthony was doing some sort of energy work on the plants - like his cousin's Reiki - but Anthony didn't do that sort of thing. And yet...  
  
A frisson went down Sören's spine, and that vision held in his mind's eye. _I need to paint this._ And then the title came to him, unbidden. _Nothing Gold Can Stay._  
  
Sören wondered, once again, about why he and Anthony had the same dreams, why they were so attuned to each other as they were. He looked over at Dag, who was watching Anthony as if he were studying him, and he wondered why Anthony felt Dag was familiar. If it had something to do with  
  
_before._  
  
Sören tried not to snort into his lemonade. _Oh come on, that past life shit isn't real._  
  
But billions of people around the world disagreed, and it had been one of mankind's oldest documented beliefs. Why?  
  
Sören went on the tour of the house when the sunset faded into twilight, even though he'd seen the house plenty of times before. He noticed that Dag was trying to keep his expression neutral as they walked around, but Dag was a bit dazed, as if he couldn't believe the house was real.  
  
Elaine sent Sören and Anthony home with leftovers; she tried to give some to Dag too, but Dag politely declined, so Sören and Anthony got even more. Sören held the food containers in a bag in his lap on the way home, dozing off a little as he was full of food and feeling content having spent time with family. Then Dag's voice roused him.  
  
"Your parents seem nice, Anthony," Dag said.  
  
"They mostly are."  
  
Dag laughed. "Mostly."  
  
"Well, my dad has his grumpy moments, moreso now as he's getting older and has arthritis, and my mum... you wouldn't want to get on her bad side. But compared to a lot of other people I've known, especially present company, my parents are decent and I have very little to complain about with them. I know how fortunate I am." That last sentence came across almost like Anthony felt the need to defend himself, and Sören's eyes opened fully. He wondered if Anthony had noticed Dag's discomfort with the privilege. _Anthony's a fucking barrister, he's trained to observe people, of course he's noticed._  
  
And then Anthony's tone softened, and he glanced over at Sören. "But my greatest fortune is your brother."  
  
Sören couldn't help but smile. He leaned in and kissed Anthony's cheek.  
  
"Good," Dag said. "You had better value him."  
  
Sören laughed. "Dag!"  
  
"No, it's fine. Not every day I get threatened by a Viking," Anthony said.  
  
"You mean Sören doesn't threaten you every day?" Dag teased.  
  
_No, that was our other brother I threatened, and he liked it._ And another frisson went down Sören's spine, wondering where he was, if he was out there... _And why are you even thinking like this. Even if there is something really going on here and it's not just... confirmation bias... Anthony doesn't seem keen on sharing you this time around._  
  
_But if he was, I totally hope he's hot. And French._  
  
Sören tilted his head back against the passenger seat, closed his eyes, and sighed.  
  
  
_  
  
  
"Here we are," Dag said, "all alone in the solar system. As far as we currently know, all alone in the galaxy. All alone in any galaxy.  
  
"But do we know that for a fact? Are we, in fact, alone?  
  
"Carl Sagan had said that of billions and billions of stars -" Dag smiled, and so did several dozen people in the audience, Sören being one of them. "-the possible number of advanced civilizations capable of interstellar travel was about one million, max. Any civilization wishing to check on all the others would have to launch 10,000 ships annually, which is... a lot of spaceships."  
  
A couple of weeks ago, in a moment of spare time Sören had made some bad MS Paint doodles and photoshops for Dag's presentation.

[The Alot from the old Hyperbole and a Half blog](http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/04/alot-is-better-than-you-at-everything.html), covered in spaceships, was on the screen behind Dag, captioned ALOT OF SPACESHIPS. Laughter and a few groans from the audience; Dag smiled genuinely now, relaxing.  
  
"But would they need to check on _all_ the civilizations? And would they have to launch any ships at all? Maybe we're thinking about these highly advanced civilizations, spacefaring, the wrong way. Maybe they are using quantum fields to travel, maybe even pockets of dark matter.  
  
"Tonight, I'll be challenging what you think you know about the concept of life on other worlds. No pseudoscience of UFOs - no need to fly at all. Why fly, when you can just walk through a door?  
  
"Tonight, I'll be challenging what you think you know about the concept of the universe itself. Are we in a universe, singular, or are we in a multiverse, plural?  
  
"We may not be as alone as we think we are. Is that comforting? Not really. Terrifying, harrowing. But just like primitive humans had to conquer their fear of fire, and harness it to survive - we must continue to face that which we do not understand. And in that, science fiction truly is accurate - space is the final frontier."  
  
_Fear of fire._  
  
In Sören's mind's eye, he saw the recurring nightmare that had plagued him since he was four years old - burning to death, burning up and up and up, turning to ash and smoke. There had been no house fire, nothing seen on television or in movies, no neighbors' fires or other news of fires, to put the idea in small Sören's head.  
  
And now he saw himself from his dreams, in the forge. Hammering hot steel on an anvil. Refining gold by fire. Cutting jewels by firelight, watching them sparkle in the glow of the flames. _Harness it to survive._  
  
Anthony's hand gripped Sören's, and Dag's words continued to echo. _We may not be as alone as we think we are._  
  
The nightmare of the ships burning. _Burn them all._ Sören feeling abandoned, betrayed, _forsaken._ His pride burning as hot as his passion. _If they will not love me, they will fear me._  
  
And now something new, the vision of making glass... a mirror. _The Door of Doors._ Looking into the mirror and seeing infinite reflections. His ancient other-self looking into the mirror and seeing sometimes himself, and sometimes Sören as he was now, staring back at him. Waving his hand and watching them all wave the same way. Watching Sören and Anthony find their way to each other, again and again and again.  
  
_Once I have claimed something, it is always mine._  
  
Sören tried to refocus on Dag's words, but he kept being pulled to the wanderings of his mind. Seeing the mirror, seeing the infinite reflections, seeing himself and Anthony.  
  
_Always mine. Always mine..._  
  
And then Sören's attention finally snapped back as he was aware Dag was finishing his speech. He felt guilty for not being fully "there", but it was precisely because Dag's words had captivated him, drawn him elsewhere, sparked his imagination.  
  
_Or is it just imagination? What is it,_ really? _What's going on here?  
  
...Goddamn, this is crazy shit._  
  
"Ultimately, we can't prove any of this... it's why it's called theoretical astrophysics. The only thing I know for certain, here, is that we really don't know much of anything at all. Indeed, future generations - with more information, better technology - still won't know everything, or even much more than we've learned to date.  
  
"What I do know is that I am willing to be wrong about everything I just said, I am willing to look like a fool, if someone is willing to prove me wrong. Because the future of humanity, here on this pale blue dot, is such that until and unless we can prove these doors exist, and open them... we are still alone. There is dark matter, but the greater darkness is closer to home. It's inside all of us.  
  
"And it is only by being willing to keep delving into that darkness - to learn more, about the nature of reality, the nature of ourselves... that is what preserves this world. That is what has taken us from the caves to the skies. That is the poetry of the starstuff that we are all made of. The willingness to light that fire within, to face the fear of the unknown, and find the truth, however it hurts. However it may break the world that we know, however it may break us, ourselves. Knowledge is power, and it is only in breaking what we think is our reality, and go deeper... that the pieces fall together as they should. As they must, for our continued survival. Thank you."  
  
Sören found himself standing up, applauding, and watched as Anthony stood with him, as the rest of the auditorium rose to give Dag a standing ovation. Tears burned Sören's eyes - he had never been prouder of his brother before this moment. He realized that giving a TED Talk was not quite as much of an accomplishment as getting admitted to Oxford at age fourteen, or working at NASA, or working on the Large Hadron Collider, or teaching at the University of Toronto, or co-authoring a book with Neil Degrasse Tyson. And yet, Sören knew how terrifying it was to speak in front of other people - just at staff meetings at the hospital Sören felt like he was going to choke - and Dag had given some very, very interesting food for thought.  
  
Too interesting.  
  
That night, after they made love, Sören and Anthony held each other, listening to the rain fall; Anthony stroked Sören's curls, and Sören melted into the scalp massage, though he was still irritated with his hair being short.  
  
Finally Anthony's voice broke the quiet. "Your brother gave an amazing speech."  
  
"Jæja, he did." Sören nodded, feeling that warmth and tight ache in his chest again. "I'm very proud of him."  
  
"You should be."  
  
"Sounds like even you're proud of him." And then Sören couldn't resist. "Chip off the old block." He tweaked Anthony's nose, laughing softly.  
  
"Yeah, I guess he is, isn't he?" Anthony laughed too.  
  
There was that frisson down Sören's spine again, and he felt himself break into gooseflesh, hair standing on end.  
  
Anthony noticed the gooseflesh. "Cold?"  
  
Sören pulled the covers around them without answering that directly. Anthony's arms tightened around him and he kissed Sören's brow, and then he gave that frown he did when he was concentrating on something or about to ask a potentially sensitive question. "Sören?"  
  
"Jæja?"  
  
"Oh boy. This is going to sound daft." Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose, while his other arm squeezed Sören. Then he exhaled sharply. "Right, let me just..." He cleared his throat. "Do you think when we... dream of... well, what we dream of... that we're seeing into another reality?"  
  
"Possibly maybe," Sören said. He thought of the vision he had during Dag's TED Talk, where the other-him was looking into the mirror and seeing some reflections that were the other-him, and some that were Sören himself. "But it..." He searched for the right words. "It feels like everything we're dreaming of, already happened already. Like..."  
  
"Like the past," Anthony said.  
  
"Like a past life, yes. But that's..."  
  
"It's religious bullshit."  
  
"It's religious bullshit, and yet, is it really religious, or bullshit?" Sören shrugged. "I can't answer that. As a neurosurgeon, as an atheist, I want to tell you yes. But science demands proof, and I don't have proof that the answer is 100%, absolutely yes."  
  
"Yeah, same, but as a barrister." Anthony let out a deep sigh. "If it is the past, it raises the question of _why_ it's the past. _What_ happened. _How_ we ended up as... ourselves..."  
  
"...where this is all going," Sören said.  
  
"And who else from our past is out there." Anthony scowled again. "You know when I said I felt like I know Dag somehow..."  
  
"Oh god. You don't think he was our other -" That felt incredibly _wrong_ in a way Sören didn't know how to articulate.  
  
"Oh god _no_," Anthony said, laughing; Sören was glad Anthony agreed with that assessment. Then Anthony got serious. "But I wonder if he's... family."  
  
"I don't know." Sören sighed. "I know nothing."  
  
"I know that I love you," Anthony said, his voice soft. He took Sören's chin in his hand and looked into his eyes, traced Sören's lips with his thumb before pulling him into a kiss. "And if it was a past life, our present, here and now... this is a choice. You are what I want. Truly. Madly. Deeply."  
  
Sören's eyes teared up, and his throat and chest tightened. He had no words to express how he felt, so he let his body do the talking, rolling Anthony onto his back and kissing him passionately as he straddled Anthony's hips.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören is in the body not his own again, with the flood of dark hair to his knees. He is with Anthony in the walled garden, and one of Anthony's small sons is riding piggyback on his shoulders, enchanted by the beauty of the garden...  
  
...and endlessly curious. "Father, what's that one? And that one?"  
  
Anthony is patient, telling his son which each plant is. Then his son has more questions. "How does it grow, Father? What makes it grow?"  
  
When Anthony feels his son has asked enough questions for now, he distracts him by taking them to the bird menagerie. Sören smiles at the birdsong, his smile growing bigger as Anthony talks to the birds like they are his children, and the birds talk back to him. They feed the swans, and watch them sail on the pond.  
  
But there are of course more questions. "Why do birds fly, Father? How do birds fly?"  
  
At last Anthony gives Sören a pleading look. _Help,_ he speaks directly into Sören's mind. _You have sons of your own. And they are even more of a handful. How do you handle them?_  
  
Sören smirks, and pulls a ring from his finger, handing it to the boy to let him play with it. The boy is captivated by the way the jewel sparkles in the light, the intricate metalwork of the band. "I want one," the boy says, tugging on the hem of Sören's tunic. "I want one."  
  
"When you're big," Sören says.  
  
The boy grabs his father's hand, points to the emerald ring that Sören has made for him - the ring of their secret marriage vow. "I want one like this," the boy says. "I like green."  
  
  
_  
  
  
While they waited for Eurovision to start, Sören heated up the leftovers from Elaine and served Dag, Anthony, and himself, and they watched a rerun of _Star Trek: The Next Generation._  
  
"You know..." Anthony swirled the beer around in its bottle and cocked his head to one side, looking thoughtful. "I rather hope there's at least one reality where humanity pulls its collective head out of its collective arse enough to be able to create something like the Federation."  
  
"Well..." Dag chuckled. "I had a conversation with Ari when we were at coffee on Friday that wasn't too dissimilar, except he said..." Dag laughed harder. "Oh god. He said he thinks that different fictional canons are maybe other versions of reality, and people with more 'advanced consciousness' are 'tuning in' and writing it as fiction without realizing it's fictional." Dag snickered and sipped his beer.  
  
"So in other words, he thinks Star Trek is real somewhere," Anthony said.  
  
"Yes." Dag nodded vehemently. "And he thinks that Tolkien's history is actually _real_. That it happened _here_, in the distant past. Like there were actual real, live hobbits and shit. I had to call my friend who teaches calculus at the university back in Toronto, and let him know I was safe and whatnot, and I was like 'get a load of this shit, my cousin Ari thinks hobbits are real.' Proust was like, 'you mean halflings.' I laughed so fucking hard I thought I was going to break something."  
  
Sören laughed too, even though he had a vague sense of uneasiness. He chalked it up to being uncomfortable with Dag making fun of Ari - even though they were on better terms now. "Wrow," was all Sören could say, his voice slurred from having had a few beers, and Eurovision hadn't even started yet.  
  
"Yeah. Wrow is right," Dag said. "Wrrrrow."  
  
"Ugh, that reminds me," Anthony said, leaning back in his chair. "I've been meaning to re-read Tolkien. I've read the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy and _The Hobbit_, not in some time though, and there's that other book that's been on my reading list forever that I've never gotten around to, the, uh..." Anthony searched for the right word - he too was a little impaired from the alcohol. "_The Scimitar_... no wait, that's not it."  
  
Sören knew what Anthony was trying to say but it was on the tip of his tongue, escaping him. "The, uh. The Milli Vanilli."  
  
Dag spat his beer.  
  
"The S'mores," Anthony said. "No... uh..."  
  
Dag did his best Swedish Chef impersonation. "The Smear-de-beard-de-smear-den-brod-dyr-fear-de-bird-den, börk-börk-börk."  
  
Sören gigglesnorted. "The Vita-meata-vega... uh... Meata-vita-vagina..."  
  
Dag had to put his plate down on the coffee table, doubling over. "Yeah, those Noldor, they were unpoopular. They popped out at parties. They fought over some vinerals."  
  
It got even worse when Eurovision started. Sören made microwave popcorn in the kitchen.  
  
"WHERE'S MAH POPCORN?" Dag shouted.  
  
"I'M POOPING IT," Sören yelled back. "I'M POOPING THE POOPCORN."  
  
Sören sat between Dag and Anthony on the couch and shared the big bowl of popcorn with them. "God, we haven't watched Eurovision in _forever_," Sören said.  
  
"It's been too long," Dag said. "We need to try to make this a yearly tradition again."  
  
"So you guys are pretty serious about Eurovision, huh?" Anthony asked.  
  
Sören nodded solemnly. "We kind of have to be. We sent people to Eurovision _twice_ that I can remember." Then Sören quickly explained, "Akureyri, I mean. Iceland itself participates every year obviously..."  
  
"The guy this year is from Dalvík," Dag informed them.  
  
Sören howled. "Oh my _god._"  
  
"What... what's so funny?" Anthony gave them a confused look.  
  
"So people think Akureyri is tiny, because it's only, like, eighteen thousand people," Sören said. "Dalvík is about fourteen hundred people give or take."  
  
Dag nodded. "Yeah, Dalvík is... real small town."  
  
"And a short drive from Akureyri," Sören said, giving the thumbs up. "So he's almost one of us."  
  
Sören watched intently - sometimes cringing and laughing, sometimes nodding along with the music. When the contestant from Iceland came on, Sören's jaw dropped - a young man with long blonde hair and a beard, with a voice as suited for heavy metal as it was for pop. "God, he's hot," Sören muttered, and then at the withering look Anthony gave him, Sören wished he hadn't said that aloud, internally cursing his lack of brain-to-mouth filter, more unfettered than usual because of the alcohol. "You're hotter," Sören quickly assured Anthony, stroking his hand. And that was a sincere compliment, though the Icelandic man with long blonde hair made Sören start thinking of their dreams again, and what Anthony looked like in those dreams.  
  
When the contestant from Sweden was on, Sören and Dag looked at each other and then Dag started singing along in fake-Swedish. "Smear-de-hof-de-brud-de-bird-de-hork-de-brod-de-broom börk-börk-börk!"  
  
Anthony chuckled. "You're terrible."  
  
"Runs in the family, I heard," Dag said.  
  
Sören took that as his cue and started singing "Vita-meata-vega-cheetah-meata-vita-veg-vagina..."  
  
Anthony facepalmed, laughing harder. "Sören..."  
  
The alcohol was really kicking in now. It got worse when Norway's contestant took the stage with a song called "I Feed You My Love".  
  
"_I Feed You My Love_? Who the fuck names a song that?" Dag yelled.  
  
"Norwegians," Sören said.  
  
Dag lost it, doubling over again.  
  
"We have to make fun of other Scandinavian countries," Sören told Anthony. "It's the law. And they make fun of us. That is also the law."  
  
"We're Norwegian too, you know," Dag said. "Our family came from there centuries ago, before they moved to Iceland."  
  
"Yeah, to what... feed it their love? Wrrrow."  
  
"WRRRRRRRROW."  
  
"WRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROW."  
  
"I can't hear the song," Anthony said.  
  
"Good," Sören said, and Dag laughed harder, wheezing.  
  
Anthony shook his head, grinning, his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Terrible."  
  
"Yes, most Norwegian music is terrible. Exhibit A: A-Ha," Sören said.  
  
"Oh my fucking god," Dag said. "I can't believe you even remember A-Ha."  
  
"I wish I could forget A-Ha," Sören said, nipping his beer. "Or A-Teens. Though that was Sweden's fault."  
  
"Still better than the Spice Girls," Dag said. "Shitty pop that _isn't_ Scandinavian."  
  
"We do not talk about the Spice Girls," Anthony said.  
  
"Ruh-roh, is Anthony triggered?" Sören asked.  
  
Anthony chuckled. "Almost." Then he added, "The Spice Girls sort of helped me figure out I'm gay. I couldn't wank to them."  
  
Dag had just taken a mouthful of popcorn, and he almost choked, which made Sören laugh harder. "Thanks, _Dad_," Dag said. "That... I totally needed to know that."  
  
"Now Gavin Rossdale on the other hand..." Anthony turned beetroot.  
  
There was a bathroom and stretching break, and Anthony put on the living room light. When Dag took his seat on the other side of Sören, and Sören passed the bowl of popcorn, Dag snatched Sören's left hand and held it up to the light. "You know, I never did get a good look at your engagement ring till now."  
  
"Oh." Sören reached across awkwardly with his other hand to take a handful of popcorn, and put it in his mouth.  
  
"I could have sworn these were emeralds for some reason."  
  
Sören spat his popcorn, spraying it just as Anthony got back from the bathroom, and Anthony leaned against the edge of the couch, shaking with laughter.  
  
"Wow, smooth as fuck," Dag said. "Good going, Sören."  
  
Sören had chills, remembering the dream from last night, and he desperately needed to dial back the surreal feeling, heart pounding. Sören licked his thumb and forefinger and ran them along his eyebrows before waggling them at Anthony, who was in hysterics as he hit the light and sat back down. Anthony kissed Sören before grabbing a handful of popcorn. "I don't know, he's pretty sexy when he's being an idiot," Anthony said.  
  
"I guess you'd have to think that, to be with him this long," Dag said.  
  
The show wore on, and though Sören and Anthony made snarky commentary, Dag was quiet, and Sören finally glanced over to make sure Dag was OK and not stewing in resentment... and saw Dag had fallen asleep. Sören tapped Anthony and pointed over at Dag, putting a finger to his lips to indicate Anthony should be quiet, and Anthony whispered, "Awwwww."  
  
"Should we call his cab and make him get up?" Sören whispered back. They had driven Dag to their flat, but because they would be drinking, the original plan was for Dag to take a taxi back to the hotel when Eurovision was over.  
  
"He can sleep there," Anthony whispered. "I'll get some linens from the hall closet when this is over."  
  
When Eurovision was finally over, and Dag was still sleeping - snoring softly - Anthony got up and went to the hall closet as Sören washed the dishes. Then Sören came over and gently shook Dag. "Dag," Sören said. Dag was sleeping soundly enough that he didn't wake up right away, and Sören had to shake him a few more times. "Dag. Dagnýr. Dag."  
  
Dag's eyes opened a little, a look of confusion on his face. "_Hvað?_"  
  
"_Þú sofnaðir,_" Sören said. "_Þú misstir af síðasta hluta Eurovision._"  
  
"Oh. _Oh._" And then Dag's eyes widened, as it registered. "_Það er lokið núna?_"  
  
Sören nodded. Then, for Anthony's sake, he switched back to English. "You don't have to take a cab back to the hotel, you can sleep here tonight if you want."  
  
"But you do have to get up so I can make the bed," Anthony said.  
  
"Oh. OK." Dag nodded. "Yeah, I'm feeling all..."  
  
"Drunk?" Sören snickered. "We're all kind of drunk."  
  
"Jæja, I'm pretty drunk," Dag said, as Sören helped him to his feet.  
  
Anthony grinned, and Sören knew it was coming. "Hi Pretty Drunk, I'm Dad..."  
  
"Jesus _Christ,_" Dag said, but with a small smile.  
  
Anthony made up the couch with linens, and Dag lay down, trying to adjust to get comfortable as Anthony walked back out to the hallway. Sören wondered what he was doing, and sat in a chair next to the couch, reaching out to affectionately tousle his brother's hair. "Anthony sets his alarm for five," Sören warned him. "I go into work at seven tomorrow, and Anthony is going to his chambers at eight, so you'll need to be out of here by then unless you want to be stuck here all day, but we'll both be pretty tired after work tomorrow so -"  
  
"No, I get it. Remember, my schedule is crazy too." Dag's voice was thick with sleep and alcohol.  
  
And then Sören saw why Anthony had disappeared - Anthony came back with Finn and Tony in his arms, and Dag gave a sleepy grin at the sight of the soft toys.  
  
"Here," Anthony said. "I know sleeping in a strange place can be difficult, so..." He handed the stuffed animals over to Dag, who hugged them, and then Anthony pulled up the covers, tucking Dag in.  
  
"Thanks, _Dad_," Dag mumbled.  
  
"Good night, _son_," Anthony said, mirth in his voice, but his eyes were also strangely sad.  
  
Sören took Anthony's hand and they hit the lights on their way out to the bathroom, then the bedroom. They didn't make love that night - they were both too drunk, enough that Sören was already cursing the hangover he was going to have tomorrow - but also, Dag was right there in the living room and Sören and Anthony both got loud. They did hold each other for awhile before they got to sleep, and just before Sören dozed off, he said, "It's nice, seeing you in father mode."  
  
"It comes more naturally than I thought. I don't think having kids is for me, but..." Anthony frowned. "I do wonder now if there's, you know. An alternate universe where I have a kid or two."  
  
"Or three."  
  
Anthony nodded.  
  
"Maybe it's a 'verse where men can get pregnant," Sören teased, remembering Anthea's words at Christmas. "Maybe it's where instead of your grandmother saying 'Cornelius, when are you going to put a baby in him,' it's 'Cornelius, when are you going to put ANOTHER baby in him?'" And then Sören felt a shiver go through him, remembering that trip to Brighton where he had a vision of himself with a pregnant belly, walking with Anthony. Wondering if that was just a trick of his imagination, or...  
  
"Maybe," Anthony chuckled. His arms tightened around Sören. "Well... just the same, I'm not looking to have children here. Cats, though..."  
  
"Yes, cats." Sören nodded. He couldn't help himself. "And Dag."  
  
"Oh _GOD._" Anthony rolled his eyes, laughing harder.  
  
"HEY, KEEP IT DOWN IN THERE!" Dag yelled from the living room, though his tone was playful.  
  
"I DON'T NEED A LECTURE FROM YOU, YOUNG MAN," Anthony yelled back. "KIDS THESE DAYS..."  
  
"I CAN LECTURE YOU IF I WANT. YOU DON'T RUN MY LIFE, DAD."  
  
"SON, I'M DISAPPOINTED IN YOU."  
  
"Oh shit," Sören hissed under his breath just as Dag came back with, "HI DISAPPOINTED IN YOU..."  
  
Sören giggled into the pillow as Anthony made a noise, then Anthony laughed along with him.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören's long hours on Wednesday and Thursday - to compensate for having three nights off in a row Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday - meant that he was too tired to spend time with Dag, but Dag took the opportunity to see some friends and colleagues in London, which worked out well. On Friday Sören had another night off, and wanted to see Dag before he flew back to Canada on Saturday afternoon - he and Anthony would bring Dag to the airport, but it wasn't the same as another evening hanging out with his brother. All too soon, this visit was over.  
  
Sören was not amused when Anthony picked him up at the National and said, "I got a call from Jack asking if I wanted to go to the pub with the squad tonight."  
  
Sören tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. "Really."  
  
"Do you and Dag want..."  
  
Sören shook his head, feeling that if he shook it any harder his neck would snap. "I can't speak for my brother, but I am just. Not up. For dealing with groups of people."  
  
"Well... do you mind terribly if I go? I haven't had a night out with them in a few weeks."  
  
Sören fought the urge to scream. _My brother is here and this is one of the only opportunities that we're going to get to spend time with him this entire year, and you fucking want to go to the fucking pub with these shitbags? It couldn't have waited another week?_ Sören felt his nostrils flare. "Go ahead," Sören said, adding _asshole_ silently to the end of his sentence.  
  
Sören realized when they got home that he was probably being uncharitable - Anthony was stressed from work too and this was how he chose to unwind - but he was still bristling with annoyance when Anthony was out and Dag was on his way in a taxi.  
  
Once Dag got upstairs, Sören brought over coffee and handed him a menu of the Thai place they sometimes ordered from, knowing Dag liked Thai food. He felt a little guilty, since he knew Dag had to do takeaway a lot back in Toronto and could use a nice home-cooked meal and Sören was too exhausted to cook. _But it's still less shitty than going out with 'the squad'._  
  
As they waited for their food to arrive, Sören showed Dag his portfolio - skipping over the sexually explicit paintings of him and Anthony - and Dag admired Sören's work. When Dag had seen everything, he and Sören sat out on the balcony, looking down over the Thames at sunset. "This is a really nice view," Dag said.  
  
Sören nodded. "It is. The rent here is sky-high, but this is one of the reasons why."  
  
"Mmm, yeah, you guys have quite a... posh... flat here."  
  
Sören braced himself, hoping Dag wasn't going to get on their case over how much plastic they used, or not buying enough recycled products, and the like. But Dag let the words hang there, and Sören found himself getting even more nervous than if Dag were taking them to task for not being environmentally correct enough.  
  
Once their food arrived and they sat down on the couch with it, Dag gave Sören a pointed look as Sören dug into his plate of pad thai. Sören paused, with noodles hanging out of his mouth. Dag not even laughing at the comical sight of Sören with noodles hanging down his chin let Sören know it was fairly serious. Sören raised an eyebrow.  
  
Dag cleared his throat. "Sören, can I ask you a potentially insensitive question, and can you answer me really, really, really honestly?"  
  
"Probably," Sören said through a mouthful of noodles.  
  
"And can you do it without, you know, looking completely fucking ridiculous? Because this is serious, and I need you to be serious."  
  
Sören put his plate down and gave Dag a death glare, tapping his fingers on his arm.  
  
"OK." Dag took a deep breath, rubbed his face like an annoyed wet cat, and then gave Sören a death glare right back. "Why him?"  
  
"What... what do you mean why..." Sören had a feeling it was going to be bad, but that question completely threw him.  
  
"You know what I mean. Look, Sören, I'm not trying to be a dick, but... you're going to marry this guy, but how long do you think it's going to last, _really_. I know you guys are all _in love_ and doing the schmoopy thing and whatnot, but have you actually _seen_ the two of you? Like, _looked at_ the two of you. Objectively. You guys are like night and day. He comes from money. He doesn't just come from money, but he does shit like treat me to a sixty-quid-a-plate dinner, with expensive champagne, because he _can_. He drives an Audi because he _can_, because it was an upgrade from the Lexus that his daddy bought him. He grew up in a fucking _mansion_, like something out of that stupid fucking MTV Cribs show. You moved into his very posh flat. We come from nothing. We come from so much nothing that we're completely lost in the world he travels, even though we're professionals too. You said he went out with his friends tonight and it's telling to me that you're not out with them too, and your accent was a lot heavier when you told me on the phone while he got ready, which is a tell that your emotions are running pretty high. Like his friends are an uncomfortable subject for you. And that's not even getting into shit like _your hair._ You look like a rockstar, and he looks like something out of a British soap opera, but now your hair is all short and -"  
  
"_He didn't make me cut my hair_," Sören said, feeling himself grit his teeth. "Anthony was fine with my hair."  
  
"So why in the fuck did you cut your hair, Sören?"  
  
"His friend Trisha," Sören said.  
  
"There. That's exactly what I'm getting at." Dag shook his head. "I really, _really_ want to be happy for you guys and I really _hope_ for _your sake_ that it works out, but... I've got a bad feeling about this."  
  
"So what, because someone stomped on your heart four years ago you've decided all relationships are bullshit?" Sören shook his head, feeling annoyed with Dag even though Dag had hit every insecurity of his on the head with precision accuracy. "Anthony and I _love_ each other. He knows what my life was like. I don't fault him for his privilege, mostly, because he gives so much of himself to helping others less fortunate. His friends are assholes, but..."  
  
"You have the shiny new feeling because you guys have been together now, what, a year and a half? What's going to happen five years from now? Ten?"  
  
"I don't know, and neither do you," Sören said. "But I think it's stupid to assume that people fall out of love if they've been together awhile. Nobody would ever stay together if that was the case."  
  
"No, nobody would," Dag said. "But love, by itself, isn't enough to keep a relationship together. I learned that the hard way with Sarah."  
  
"Yes, and now it sours your view of every other relationship -"  
  
"No," Dag said. "I'm being realistic here. If you think you're uncomfortable with his background and the world he inhabits _now_, I assure you it's going to get _worse_, not better, with time. The differences are going to become more glaring with time. And that's just the surface shit. I don't know what he thinks of your schedule, and the hours you work..."  
  
"He's a lawyer, he doesn't exactly have a lot of leisure time himself. We make time for each other. And we _enjoy_ each other's company. As you've seen, we make each other laugh. We may be different on the outside, but here..." Sören put a hand on his heart. "We're a lot the same. He _gets_ me. I get him."  
  
"He gets you and... you make time for each other," Dag repeated. "So where is he right now?"  
  
"You know," Sören said, "I had a long fucking day today and I just wanted to chill out tonight. So we can either get off this subject or you can go back to the hotel, because I do not need this shit right now."  
  
"I'm just trying to look out for you," Dag said, his voice soft. "I don't want to see you get hurt."  
  
"_I'm fine,_" Sören said, his annoyance with himself becoming full-blown anger as he heard the edge in his voice. "We're fine. Really."  
  
"OK." Dag started to work on his tom yum soup. "If you say so."  
  
"I say so."  
  
"You're my brother, Sören. I haven't been there for you when you needed me, and I'm trying to change that." Dag sighed. "Like I said. I'm just trying to look out for you."  
  
Sören desperately needed levity, feeling the hysteria rise in him, not wanting to fall apart, not wanting his brother to be _right_. "Hi Just Trying To Look Out For You -"  
  
"Jæja, fuck you."  
  
"I love you too." But Sören almost hated Dag as much as he loved him right now.


	37. Bitch Eating Crackers

It was a hot Friday afternoon in June, and Sören couldn't wait to get home. He'd been working since eleven o'clock last night, and it was now three PM and Sören felt dead on his feet. He'd considered texting Anthony to ask for a ride home and waiting at the National an additional three hours, but he couldn't take another minute in that place, so he made himself ride the train and trudge in the heat and humidity from the Kingston train station to their flat. By the time Sören got upstairs he was soaked in sweat and felt ready to drop.  
  
He resisted the urge to just undress and climb into bed, marching into the shower. He decided on a cool shower, and for a few minutes he just stood under the water, leaning against the shower wall, hearing himself make tired noises.  
  
As tired as he was, the cool shower woke him up a little, and having iced coffee from a pitcher in the fridge - a treat on a hot day like this - woke him up even more. He curled up on the couch in pajama shorts, shirtless, and for awhile he just zoned out to the BBC News, only half-paying attention.  
  
At last his Wacom tablet, resting on the coffee table, beckoned to him.  
  
He'd been doing a lot more art as of late, since the day the patient died on his table in April, and even more since Dag visited and went back in May, which seemed to rip open the wound that was missing his family, and feeling all alone in London except for Anthony - alone and adrift. And more often as of late, he'd been working on art even when he was tired and would normally jump at the chance for extra sleep. Something in him _burned_, his list of ideas expanding and expanding, producing more and more new pieces. He tried to explain it to himself - and when Anthony occasionally expressed concern at Sören staying up longer than he should with the tablet - by saying he had an art show in July, and he wanted to showcase new pieces as well as some of what people had seen at the previous one in March.  
  
But the truth was, it was an escape. Art took him somewhere else. It made him forget that feeling of loss and loneliness.  
  
He lost all track of time as his stylus glided over the tablet, bringing the visions in his head to life in vibrant, surreal, ramped-up color, like oversaturated Pre-Raphaelites with more than a touch of fantasy, otherworldliness. This afternoon he was working on the ship burning he'd seen in his dreams - his nightmares - and the other-him watching, commanding, using some sort of magical power to control the fire, madness in his eyes. Long hair whipping about him as the wind fanned the flames. _Long hair. Not cut off._ The fire burned through him like the baking heat outside.  
  
He was still working on the painting when Anthony got in. Anthony was on the phone, and judging from his relaxed tone, it was someone he knew and not work. Anthony gave a quick wave to Sören as he made his way to the kitchen to get some iced coffee from the pitcher. Just as he opened the door to the fridge, Sören cleared his throat and said, "Wash your hands."  
  
Anthony's eyebrows shot up. He closed the door to the fridge, held the phone away from his ear and said, "I beg your pardon?"  
  
"Wash. Your. Hands. You've been out there dealing with the public and their germs all day. _You shake your clients' hands._ Jesus _Christ_, Anthony, it's been almost two years, this should be force of habit now, especially before you go contaminate anything in the damn fridge."  
  
"Can you excuse me for a moment?" Anthony told the person on the phone.  
  
Then Anthony gave him a look as he pushed up his sleeves, took off his Rolex watch and set it on the counter, and proceeded to wash his hands at the kitchen sink, the thorough, like-a-doctor way Sören had shown him soon after he'd moved in over a year and a half ago. Sören felt a little bad for nagging him, nor did he want Anthony to feel like he was being shamed - it wasn't that Anthony was an unclean person, it was something that a lot of people who weren't doctors forgot to do unless it was cold/flu season, but Sören was irritated that he _still_ had to occasionally remind Anthony of this. Especially when Anthony was handling his cell phone, a breeding ground for bacteria.  
  
"That cell phone needs to be sterilized later," Sören muttered, continuing to brush color with his stylus.  
  
"Can I... call you back?" Anthony asked the person on the phone, and Sören heard what sounded like Jack's voice, and then Anthony said, "Oh. OK. Well... yes, I think I can make it. Eight-thirty, you said? Mhm. OK. I'll see you then."  
  
Anthony ended the call, and then he and Sören gave each other a long look. "Hello to you too," Anthony said.  
  
"Was that Jack?" Sören asked, feeling irritation at the edge in his voice, and also at that being what came out, instead of returning Anthony's greeting.  
  
"It was," Anthony said. "He's invited us to go to the pub with the squad tonight, around eight-thirty."  
  
Sören put his tablet down on the coffee table - he resisted the urge to throw it - and he sat on the edge of the couch, hands between his knees, staring at the tablet for a moment before looking up, feeling the fire rising, burning even hotter, feeling his fists clench involuntarily. "Anthony... do you remember what time I went to work last night?"  
  
"Eleven PM."  
  
"Do you know what time I got off work today?"  
  
Anthony shook his head.  
  
"Three PM. As in, I worked sixteen hours. And you already said yes to him...?"  
  
"I didn't realize you'd be working sixteen hours -"  
  
Sören could hear his accent getting stronger as he spoke, his heart beating faster, and he knew his body language was defensive and all the little warning bells in his head were telling him to _calm down_, but he couldn't be calm. He was _angry_ now. _You're a brilliant lawyer, you've trained to observe for a living, and you don't get it? Really? Why are you so_ shit _at figuring people out outside the courtoom?_ "Except, again, you've been with me almost two years and you know I _have_ worked sixteen-hour shifts before, and you know that although it's not an everyday occurrence, it's not an uncommon occurrence either and I'm pretty well guaranteed to have to that kind of shift at least once or twice every fortnight. So you already said yes to him and -"  
  
"Well, you could have taken a nap, to be more rested for the evening -"  
  
"You know as well as I do that sometimes I can, sometimes I can't. As of late, it's been harder to shut my mind off immediately when I get home from work." Sören leaned back against the couch and folded his arms. "And it's harder for me to sleep on hot afternoons like this one, even with central air. And even if I _had_ taken a nap, when I've worked a sixteen-hour shift and I have to go right back to work tomorrow, the very last thing I want to do is go out and be social for a few hours." _Especially not some posh place calling itself a "pub" when it's for trendy idiots with money._  
  
Anthony sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sören, sweetheart, darling, love, I don't want to fight with you." He gave Sören a sympathetic look. "No, I didn't realize that you wouldn't be in the mood to go out when Jack offered. I assumed that having a couple of drinks might help relax you, and... that was an incorrect assumption, clearly."  
  
"Clearly."  
  
Anthony sighed again. "My hands are clean. Would you like some iced coffee while I'm in the fridge?"  
  
"Já, _takk_."  
  
Anthony nodded, and poured them each a glass of iced coffee. He took his suit jacket off, walked into the hall presumably to put it in the queue for the dry cleaner, and then he came back and brought the coffee over to Sören, taking a seat next to him on the couch. Anthony looked over at what Sören had been drawing on the tablet, and then he leaned in and gave Sören a kiss on the cheek. Sören felt a pang of guilt and kissed him back. As Sören drank his coffee, Anthony asked, "Mind if I take a look?"  
  
"I do, because it's not finished yet."  
  
"Oh. I didn't realize. It looked done -"  
  
"_It's not done._"  
  
At the hurt look Anthony gave him, now it was Sören's turn to sigh. "I'm just... putting my damn foot in it all over the place today," Sören said.  
  
The painting was _close_ to being done, and to anyone who wasn't him it likely would be "good enough" to be declared finished, but Sören was a bit of a perfectionist and obsessed with detail when it came to his art, and as of late had spent hours tweaking things that might seem minor and consequential to others but had to be just so to get it right, with the way his vision was versus the way it translated when given form. But of course Anthony wouldn't understand that - he wasn't a mind reader, and Sören realized it was unfair to take that tone with Anthony and assume he'd know it wasn't done.  
  
Sören put his coffee down and wrapped his arms around Anthony, who leaned on him. "I'm sorry. It's hot. I'm overtired and cranky. I should take a nap or something but I..." He gestured to the tablet.  
  
"I understand, I think. I've had enough sleepless nights in my own career, after all. I just worry about you not getting enough rest." Anthony rubbed noses with Sören. Then he gave Sören a concerned look. "You haven't eaten yet either, have you?"  
  
"Ugh, not since noon or so, and it wasn't a big meal. Just a sandwich at the cafe and some yogurt."  
  
"Well, I was going to eat something at the pub, but I can make you a couple of grilled cheese if you -"  
  
Normally Sören wouldn't turn down an opportunity to eat one of his favorite foods, but he already felt bad for snapping at Anthony, and Anthony cooking for him would make him feel worse, like he didn't deserve Anthony's kindness. "You need to get ready. I'll, ah. Order delivery or something."  
  
"I could bring you back something from the pub but that would be late and you should eat before then."  
  
"It's OK. Like I said, I can order delivery."  
  
"OK."  
  
There were a few quiet moments as they drank their iced coffee, and then Sören felt bad again for snapping at him, and he put his empty tumbler down on the coffee table and hugged Anthony tight. "I love you," Sören said.  
  
Anthony smiled and kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "I love you too." He looked into Sören's eyes and stroked his cheek. "I missed you last night."  
  
"I missed you too."  
  
"Anything exciting happen on the night shift?"  
  
"Oh, you know. Emergency trauma surgery, head wound." Sören exhaled sharply, seeing the carnage in his mind's eye. "Poor bastard in a car accident."  
  
"Jesus."  
  
Sören nodded. "I'm never in a good mood after I see that shit."  
  
"Well, if I become too impaired to drive, you know me, I'll have my car towed home and take a taxi." Anthony cupped Sören's chin and stroked it. "But I don't like to get that impaired in public, most of the time."  
  
"I know."  
  
They cuddled together for a little while, and Sören felt a little more at ease, but when Anthony got up to take a shower and get ready, Sören felt the return of the anger, wishing Anthony didn't have to go out with those people, wishing they could just get delivery and snuggle and make love and go to bed. He tried to keep his tone pleasant and disguise the irritation when Anthony kissed him goodbye, but as soon as he heard Anthony's Audi drive off, Sören let out a "_tillitslaus fáviti_" under his breath.  
  
A few minutes after Anthony left, Sören called the Italian place for delivery, and ate most of a small pizza by himself. Then he resumed working on the tablet, even though he knew he should go to bed. He needed to channel his frustration into something, or he'd lay awake, tossing and turning.  
  
He did, however, need to stretch out, so he brought the tablet to bed with him, propped up against pillows as his stylus moved over the zoomed-in screen, adding a strand of hair here, embroidery to a hem there, sparks in the sky here, smoke there, texture of wood, texture of sails, the way the fire burned in the other-him's feverish, angry eyes. And eventually, his mind let him declare the painting finished. With a sigh of relief, he turned off his tablet, hit the light, and lay down. It occurred to Sören a few minutes later he should get up and brush his teeth, but he was too tired, and made a noise, annoyed at himself, as he closed his eyes again.  
  
At some point he was woken up by a weight on the bed, and something soft like petals tickling his nose. The scent of roses. Sören's eyes flew open and Anthony was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a long-stemmed rose with baby's breath. Sören's eyes teared and he felt a stabbing twinge of guilt for snapping at him earlier. "Oh, _elskan._"  
  
Anthony gave him a kiss, and put the rose in a vase he'd readied next to the bed. Then he started undressing.  
  
Sören saw the time. It was just after midnight.  
  
"I would have been home earlier but I wanted to bring you home flowers," Anthony said. "Of course, florists don't tend to be open at this hour."  
  
"That was... very sweet of you." Sören swallowed hard. "Very thoughtful."  
  
"I wanted to make up for not thinking." Anthony's voice was husky with emotion, and their eyes met. "I really, _really_ didn't think you were going to be that upset by -"  
  
Sören buried his face in his hands and exhaled sharply. He rubbed his face like an annoyed wet cat - annoyed with himself this time - and then he said, "I'm sorry I reacted so strongly. I'm just..."  
  
"Tired. As I said. I should have realized, and I didn't. I'm sorry."  
  
"Well..." Sören held out his arms, and he grinned. "Hi Sorry, I'm Sören."  
  
Anthony threw his tie at Sören, and Sören put it on his head like a hat. Anthony laughed as he came over in his boxer-briefs and climbed into Sören's arms. Sören breathed in the scent of his cologne, and the alcohol.  
  
"I'm not drunk if that's what you're wondering," Anthony said. "I could see your nose twitching."  
  
"Hi Not Drunk If -"  
  
Anthony tickled him, and Sören gigglesnorted before Anthony stole a kiss. Then Sören handed him the tablet. "Here. It's finished."  
  
Anthony leaned on Sören as he surveyed the finished product. His jaw dropped, and Sören saw his skin break out into gooseflesh. Anthony gave Sören a look almost like he was in panic, and Sören realized the painting must have hit a nerve for him.  
  
"You know..." Anthony gave a nervous laugh. "I had a dream where I... wasn't _there_ for that, but in the dream, I had a vision of it, seeing it from far away."  
  
And now it was Sören's turn to break out into gooseflesh. _Of course you weren't there for that. That was part of why it happened. Something in me snapped after you left. You were my light, and losing you plunged me into darkness._  
  
"I'd say I need a drink, but." Anthony laughed again, but it was a humorless laugh, and he quickly looked away, a _dear god help me_ expression on his face.  
  
"Is it any good?" Sören felt strangely annoyed that Anthony hadn't remarked on it yet. "The painting, I mean, not the..."  
  
"Oh, yes. It's... well... all your work is brilliant." Anthony glanced at the tablet again. "You have amazing attention to detail."  
  
"I spent hours getting every last thing in order."  
  
"I can tell. It's remarkable, how intricate the painting is." Anthony stroked Sören's cheek. "I hesitate saying it's beautiful, because... well... it is, but it's... haunting, is more accurate."  
  
Sören nodded. "I was haunted by the vision when I painted it."  
  
Sören put the tablet back on the bedtable and Anthony just held him for a few minutes, stroking his hair. Then Anthony got up, went to the bathroom, and Sören heard the sound of him brushing his teeth. When Anthony got back in bed, he gave Sören a minty kiss before turning off the light.  
  
They rolled up together, legs entwined. "Mmmm, you feel nice," Anthony said, arms tightening around Sören.  
  
"You feel nice." Sören breathed a soft sigh, soothed by the feel of Anthony's heartbeat. "I'm so glad I have next weekend off."  
  
"Me too."  
  
"Maybe we can go to Brighton?"  
  
"Yeah, we could do that."  
  
Anthony began rubbing Sören's back in slow, lazy circles, and eventually his fingers started walking up and down Sören's spine, making Sören break out in gooseflesh, nipples hardening, cock waking up. Sören's breath hitched and he let out a soft moan as Anthony kissed his neck.  
  
Anthony licked Sören's neck, and nibbled. Sören cried out, bucking against him, hands clutching Anthony's hips. Anthony groaned in response, and gave Sören's neck a few more kisses before he husked, "You want..."  
  
"Please."  
  
Their mouths met, and Anthony gently pushed Sören onto his back. They kissed again and again as Anthony reached for the lube at the bedtable and poured it over Sören's fingers, guiding Sören's hand to ready him. Then Anthony rode his cock slowly, sweetly, Sören rising to sit up so they could kiss, hands exploring, soothing, loving, teasing. They lost themselves in the sensual, languid bliss of their slow fuck, comforting each other, making it right again, until they couldn't hold back anymore and held onto each other tight, Anthony riding him hard, making a mess all over Sören's chest and stomach as he called out Sören's name. When Sören spent into him, he bit Anthony's shoulder and growled, smiled as he felt Anthony tremble, heard him gasp as he shot off another round of his seed over Sören's flesh.  
  
Sören sank back and pulled Anthony into his chest, stroked his hair, rocked him. "I love you," Sören whispered.  
  
"I love you." Anthony kissed the place over Sören's heart, and looked up to give him a sleepy smile before he snuggled back in, and a few minutes later Anthony was asleep. Sören watched him sleep in the blue glow of the nightlight, feeling tender.  
  
In his mind's eye he saw other-Anthony, light flowing from his hands to nurture the plants in his garden, light flowing from his hands as they ran over Sören's aching body... embracing him and feeling held in a cocoon of light, a feeling like slipping into a warm bath. He saw himself saying _go_ and Anthony turning his back, never looking back, sailing away, and the world grew darker, shadows encroaching, colors fading, desaturating.  
  
_I need you._  
  
  
_  
  
  
On Wednesday the nineteenth, Sören had gone into work at seven AM and his shift ended at five PM, and Anthony picked him up straight from leaving his chambers. Anthony handed Sören a cup of iced coffee as soon as Sören got in the car, which made Sören grin and give him a kiss on the cheek with a "_takk_".  
  
"Hi, Brown Eyes."  
  
Sören's stomach did a little flutter and his grin got bigger, his face flushing. Even after a year and a half, Anthony still knew how to make him feel like a goofy, horny teenager with a ridiculous crush. "Jæja, those green eyes of yours are pretty nice, too."  
  
Now Anthony blushed, smiling. He affectionately skritched Sören's beard like he was a cat, making Sören giggle. "How did it go today?"  
  
"Ugh, you know. I had one of those long surgeries from eight AM until an hour ago. My brain hurts now." Sören swished the coffee around in his cup and took a big gulp. "This helps."  
  
"I thought it might."  
  
"And you had court. How did _that_ go."  
  
Anthony made a face and a noise, and Sören gave a sympathetic chuckle, patting his knee. Anthony's hand covered Sören's for a moment, rubbing it, before it went back on the wheel. "One of those defendants I always feel gross about defending. I hate this line of work sometimes."  
  
"Sounds like you hate it a lot."  
  
"When the person is innocent, or they were defending themselves against an attacker, or they were charged with wrongdoing that isn't so wrong in my book - like environmentalist protesters - or they fucked up but they had reasons for doing so - like my defendants who grew up in council housing, grew up around gangs and drugs and that's the only life they know - I don't hate it as much. Trying to help these people usually makes up for it. But today..." Anthony shuddered. "Today was one of those people where if he was chosen to represent humanity to an alien race, we would be terminated with extreme prejudice."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"So am I."  
  
A few minutes of silence passed, and Sören sipped his iced coffee, looking out the window, occasionally glancing over at Anthony, wishing there was something he could do, some way to reassure him that he was a good person. Then Anthony said, "Vincente called me when I got out of court."  
  
"Oh." Sören knew Anthony sometimes chatted with his friends on breaks or after work, and it usually wasn't remarkable enough to mention. That Anthony was mentioning it now, meant something was up. "And?"  
  
"He and Trisha would like us to go on a picnic with them on Saturday afternoon."  
  
"A... picnic."  
  
"Yes, at Canbury Gardens. It's right in Kingston, so we don't have far to go. Lots of shady trees, lovely view of the river..."  
  
_So why haven't we been, in a year and a half?_ Sören felt that surge of annoyance again - Anthony knew he loved nature, and it would be nice to go on a picnic with just the two of them; he was irritated that this was the first this idea had ever come up. But he was even more annoyed with Trisha and Vincente being brought into it. "I thought... we were... going to Brighton this weekend." Sören raised an eyebrow.  
  
Anthony exhaled.  
  
_Oh here we_ fucking _go. This is totally what I needed to fucking deal with when I get off work after doing surgery all day._ "Anthony..."  
  
"Look, Sören..." Anthony exhaled again, and though he tried to keep his expression and tone neutral, Sören could see him starting to tense. Anthony glanced over at Sören and gave him a sympathetic look, and Sören just glared at him. "We _could_ still do Brighton this weekend if you absolutely must. But..."  
  
"But, _what._" The last word came out of Sören forcefully, and Sören watched as Anthony reflexively winced, as if he'd been slapped.  
  
"Vincente and Trisha feel like you... blew everyone off on Friday, and the last time you were invited, back in May -"  
  
"Oh _for fuck's sake._" Sören slammed his coffee down in the cupholder between their seats and folded his arms, feeling his fists clench. "First of all, it's fucking _rich_ that they're acting hurt over me 'blowing them off'," Sören made air quotes. "When they didn't bother to show up for my art show back in March."  
  
"Trisha had a migraine."  
  
"I'm sure," Sören said in a tone of voice that let Anthony know he actually wasn't sure, that he didn't buy it at all. Then Sören went on, "If I should be expected to give Trisha a pass because she 'had a migraine' -" Again Sören made air quotes. "Well then... I worked _sixteen fucking hours_ on Friday. Did you tell them that was why I wasn't there? If they had a shred of common courtesy they might understand _maybe_ after working that long I wasn't in the mood to go to a place with a lot of people, and noise, and pretend to be cheerful and not tired _as fuck_ for a few hours." _While your friends make idiots of themselves as fucking usual._ "And the time before that? My. Brother. Was. Visiting. It's bad enough _you_ went, which was honestly kind of rude -"  
  
"Gee, Sören, you didn't tell me you thought it was rude at the time."  
  
"I didn't want to fight with you, but I also thought maybe I wouldn't _have_ to tell you that was rude, maybe you would have realized. Didn't those posh parents of yours teach you any manners?"  
  
Anthony glared now, and despite himself, Sören felt a frisson of arousal - he thought that look on Anthony's face was incredibly sexy.  
  
Anthony took a few deep breaths - Sören knew he was trying not to lose control by giving into emotion, trying to keep the upper hand by appearing calm. When Anthony replied it was soft-spoken, which Sören had come to realize could be more dangerous than his usual tone. "Again. We don't _have_ to go, but as I said, they are taking it a bit personally that you haven't wanted to be social, and I feel... put in the middle."  
  
_"Put in the middle"? You should be on MY side, you're my fucking PARTNER. They're just your FRIENDS, and not even good friends at that._ But Sören held back from shouting what he was thinking. "I take it a bit personally that _yet again_, what little free time I have, you're asking me to share with them. They're _your_ friends."  
  
"And they're trying," Anthony said. "They're trying to be _your_ friends too, but you won't really give them a chance, and I don't understand why."  
  
Sören rubbed his short mop of curls, hoping Anthony would get the hint. But then he felt a twinge of guilt, seeing the hurt look on Anthony's face, remembering his mother's tale of the hurt boy without friends, understanding that Anthony was willing to accept the crumbs of "friendship" from this lot because it was, to Anthony's way of thinking, better than nothing.  
  
There was a time when he would have thought maybe he was being unfair and should give Anthony's friends a chance, but that time had passed after he received the bouquet from Trisha, the student of the language of flowers, with an arrangement of flowers that meant "warning", "stupidity" and "hatred". His gut feeling that the haircut had been deliberate, and that Trisha hadn't actually had a migraine the night of the show, was most likely right as his gut feelings had been about what was going on with patients in the past.  
  
He didn't think Anthony's friends deserved a chance. But as he looked over at Anthony now, whose face was pinched with stress as he focused on the road, Sören didn't want to make further trouble for him - or cause further tension between them - by saying no. Sören let out a deep sigh. "OK."  
  
"OK what?"  
  
"OK we can go."  
  
"You mean it -"  
  
Sören raised an eyebrow. "I said yes." _I don't mean it, but I said yes. Accept that._  
  
"Thank you. I -"  
  
Sören raised a hand, indicating he should be quiet. "I _really_ had my heart set on going to Brighton and getting away from it all, Anthony, but. The things we do for love, I guess."  
  
"Awww, well... we could drive to Brighton once the picnic is done?"  
  
"It's a two-hour drive, Anthony, we'd have only Saturday night into Sunday evening, as opposed to going Friday night or Saturday morning."  
  
"I'd still make the drive for that. Just an overnight away..."  
  
_I would have liked two full days instead of feeling like we were being rushed, but you had to shove Trisha and Vincente at me._ Sören shrugged. "If you want to."  
  
"I don't want you to feel cheated, Sören."  
  
_I already do._ Sören just gave him a tight smile.  
  
When they got upstairs, Sören and Anthony took turns washing their hands at the sink, and then Sören decontaminated further with a quick, cool shower, pulling on a T-shirt and pajama shorts. He walked out to the living room to see Anthony on his laptop, working on e-mail - he gave Anthony a sympathetic look, knowing his work was never done - and he went to the fridge to get them both iced coffee. Just as he did, Anthony's cell phone went off.  
  
Anthony swiped to accept the call. "Trisha, hi. Yeah, I thought it would be Vincente calling me back..." There was a muffled female voice, and Sören reflexively felt himself bristling, trying not to slam the door of the fridge as he closed it. "He said yes. So..."  
  
Sören put down the pitcher of iced coffee and leaned against the fridge, folding his arms. "What kind of food would she like me to bring?"  
  
"Er." Anthony held the phone away from his ear for a moment. "Well, we hadn't discussed that -"  
  
"Right, so I'm not going on the picnic emptyhanded." _So I can be accused of "being rude" later._ "Ask her what she'd like me to bring."  
  
Anthony blinked. "Why don't you ask her yourself?" And then Anthony got back on the phone with Trisha and said, "Trisha, Sören -"  
  
"Oh god, no, _no_," Sören muttered under his breath, not wanting to talk to her.  
  
Anthony either didn't notice or didn't care. "Sören would like to know what kind of food you'd like us to bring to the picnic, so here he is." Anthony then held out the phone and gave Sören an "I'm waiting" look.  
  
Sören reluctantly trudged over and took the phone from Anthony, trying not to snatch it away. _Deep breaths._ "Trisha, hi."  
  
"Oh, _hello_, Sören, how are you."  
  
"I'm fine." _Not really._ "How are you and Vincente?"  
  
"We're doing well, thank you. We missed you last Friday night!"  
  
_Yeah, fucking right._ "Jæja, sorry about that, I worked sixteen hours on Friday -"  
  
"Oh _goodness._ You poor _dear._"  
  
_Bitch please, like you care._ "So... já, I wasn't much in the mood for going to the pub. But, ah. The picnic. What did you have in mind for me to pack to take to the picnic and share with you guys?"  
  
"Well, anything really. Vincente and I are very flexible with what we'll eat, we're not on any special diets or anything... your choice what you bring. Surprise us!"  
  
"I assume you guys are bringing stuff?"  
  
"Oh yes. Between the four of us there should be plenty of food."  
  
_I hope mine isn't poisoned._ "That sounds great. I'm looking forward to it." _Lies._ "OK let me give you back to Anthony -"  
  
"OK, thank you, Sören, dearie. You take care of yourself, yeah? Don't work too hard."  
  
Sören snorted as he handed the phone over to Anthony. "Hi," Anthony said.  
  
Sören brought Anthony his coffee and walked back out to the bathroom, feeling the urge to wash his hands _and_ face even though he'd just taken a shower. Resisting the urge to hop back in and take a second shower, to scrub the ick off of him from talking to her. The word _dearie_ rang in his head and he felt nauseated. _Could you be any more fake, Trisha._  
  
He already had a bad feeling about this. _I hope she proves me wrong._  
  
  
_  
  
  
The afternoon of Saturday, June twenty-second was gorgeous and sunny, if a bit too warm for Sören's liking. He was also overtired, having just gotten up a couple of hours before the picnic, sleeping in late - he'd gone to bed very late, or very early depending on your definition, after having gotten off work on Friday night at 11 PM and after Anthony brought him home he'd gone straight to work in the kitchen, making things so they'd be fresh for the picnic.  
  
Some things were store-bought, of course, like the packs of bottled water and assorted San Pellegrino cans in their cooler, and Anthony had gone to the store with a shopping list from Sören and picked up different varieties of sliced cheese, like cheddar, Swiss, Havarti, and crackers - from the salty to savory to more buttery - and some fresh fruit and vegetables. Grapes and strawberries were easy finger food, and Sören wanted a platter of cucumber and baby carrots and cherry tomatoes for dipping.  
  
But Sören put his culinary skills to the test. He made traditional _raekjusalat_ with shrimp, hard-boiled eggs, pineapple, paprika, tabasco sauce, dill, lemon juice, salt and pepper, cream cheese, chives and mayonnaise. He made a dip of smoked trout and _skyr_ with capers, dill, and pepper. There were open-faced sandwiches of smoked salmon on rye bread with watercress and egg. For desserts, he made _mondlukaka_, an Icelandic almond cake with strawberry jam, and a batch of _lakkrístoppar_ cookies.  
  
As much as he hated Trisha, he was going to show hospitality. And though nothing he made was considered fancy food by Icelandic standards, it was all good food, things he enjoyed - things he'd made Anthony once in a great while when he had energy, that Anthony enjoyed - and, as importantly, it wasn't something Trisha would see everyday in London.  
  
Sören felt almost light in his step as he carried the cooler of food to where Trisha and Vincente had said they'd be meeting them. He was proud of himself for working so hard, hours, on the food, and even though he would rather not spend time with those two, he was moved by the beauty of the afternoon in the park. Geese were swimming on the river, the thick clusters of trees were lushly green, sunlight sparkling on the riverfront and dappling on the grass. Trisha and Vincente waved as they approached, crossing from the trail to the green. Sören realized that he hadn't been on a picnic since he lived in Reykjavik - and the last person he'd been on a picnic with was that lovely English girl he'd met, Karen, giving her a tour of Reykjavik after they'd met in a bar. He'd packed food much like this, some made, some store-bought... and she'd ghosted him.  
  
Sören wondered if Anthony knew Karen. He pushed that thought out of his head as they came closer.  
  
Trisha and Vincente were sitting on a blanket spread in the grass, with a large blue-and-white cooler, and an equally large wooden flip-top basket. Vincente was wearing khaki shorts and a cornflower blue polo shirt, with brogues, Ralph Lauren sunglasses, his hair perfectly styled and gelled, sporting a light tan already from the summer sun, and a platinum Rolex. Trisha had been growing out her blonde hair which was now in a high ponytail, and she pushed up her Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, bright blue eyes cheerful as she grinned at them. She was wearing a pink T-shirt and white shorts with a pastel floral print, and perfectly manicured toes peeked out of pink thong sandals. There were bangles on both her wrists. "Hello, darlings," Trisha said.  
  
"Hi," Anthony said, setting down his red-and-white cooler of drinks before he took a seat on the blanket.  
  
"Hej," Sören said, setting down his green-and-white cooler of food. He felt a little self-conscious in his jean shorts and black T-shirt, even though he was wearing the Rolex that Anthony gave him.  
  
Anthony was wearing a navy blue T-shirt with black cargo shorts, and his brogues. He took off his aviator sunglasses and smiled at Sören, who smiled back, and he asked, "Shall we?"  
  
"Yes, let us see the goods," Trisha said, rubbing her hands together eagerly.  
  
Anthony and Sören unpacked the coolers and spread everything out on the blanket. At Trisha and Vincente's confused looks, Sören explained what the Icelandic foods were.  
  
"Interesting," Vincente said in a way that suggested it wasn't, really.  
  
"Yes, very," Trisha said, sounding even less enthusiastic.  
  
Sören cracked open a blood orange San Pellegrino and watched as Vincente and Trisha unpacked their offerings. His eyes widened as Vincente took out a bottle of Cristal - not just any champagne, but Cristal, like something out of a rap video - and four sparkling clean champagne flutes. They had also brought Perrier, which wasn't entirely surprising to Sören since Anthony had also brought Perrier, but Sören still didn't like the taste of the mineral water which was why he was drinking San Pellegrino.  
  
But the Cristal was nothing compared to what came next.  
  
The first few items were fairly benign. "Kale salad," Trisha said. "Avocado crab boats. Spicy aubergine hummus and pitas. Crackers, and chicken salad." And then there was the rest.  
  
"Caviar," Trisha said, gesturing. "And a bit of foie gras."  
  
"With Godiva chocolates for dessert," Vincente said, taking out a gilt foil box and opening it.  
  
Sören's jaw dropped and he choked back a gasp. He glanced over at Anthony, feeling his heart race, feeling his stomach sink. He'd spent hours making what looked like peasant food now, compared to Cristal champagne and caviar and foie gras. And they were just so casual about it. Even Anthony was casual about it, sipping his Perrier, not batting an eyelash.  
  
Dag's words came back to Sören, unbidden. _We come from nothing. We come from so much nothing that we're completely lost in the world he travels._  
  
Then Vincente popped the champagne, and Trisha held the glasses as he poured. Trisha passed a glass to Anthony and then a glass to Sören, her eyes locked with Sören's, all smiles on the outside, but her eyes were like ice.  
  
"To friendship," Vincente said, "and good fortune."  
  
They clinked glasses, and Sören took his first sip of Cristal. It wasn't the first time he'd ever had champagne, but it was of course the first time he'd ever had _that_ kind of champagne. His cheeks burned as he drank it, and not from the bite of the alcohol. _I come from nothing._  
  
Sören looked around at the food. "Well, uh." Sören raised his can of San Pellegrino, feeling more awkward than he'd ever felt in his life. "Bon appetit."  
  
"_Mangia bene_," Vincente said.  
  
Sören was pretty hungry, and he didn't want to be rude, so he loaded up his plate, trying a little of this and that, though he deliberately avoided the caviar and foie gras, and the chocolates were for later. He also noticed that Vincente and Trisha were mostly avoiding the food Sören had brought, except for the fresh fruit and vegetables, but they weren't even touching the cheese and crackers... even though Trisha and Vincente had brought crackers, a different kind, so clearly they ate crackers.  
  
Sören wanted to relax and zone out and enjoy the peace of the sunshine and the river and the trees and the breeze swaying the grass, but Trisha, Vincente and Anthony started talking about work, their latest cases, what this past week had been like for them. It was a conversation Sören felt shut out of, so much so that he turned a bit away from Trisha and Vincente to watch the geese. Wishing he could fly away.  
  
Then Trisha tapped him, making Sören startle, spilling San Pellegrino all over his shirt. Trisha chuckled and handed him a napkin. "Have some caviar," Trisha said, passing over a plate where caviar and foie gras had been spread onto a few of the crackers Trisha and Vincente had bought.  
  
"Er, ah... _takk_." Sören politely took a cracker spread with caviar to be polite and took a big bite. He immediately winced as the saltiness overpowered him.  
  
Trisha and Vincente noticed the expression on his face and laughed like it was the funniest thing they'd ever seen in their lives.  
  
"Wow, Sören, I should have told you to nibble on it! Smaller bites!" Trisha made a "tsk" noise. Then she rolled her eyes and grinned at Sören, that sweetness-and-venom smile. "How old are you, again?"  
  
"I'll be twenty-nine in November."  
  
"How is it you've made it twenty-nine years without trying caviar?"  
  
_Because my grandfather isn't an earl like yours. My grandparents were farmers or the children of farmers._ Sören shrugged, and nibbled on the cracker again, but he still hadn't developed a taste for it, and when Trisha and Vincente were re-absorbed in their conversation, not looking, Sören noticed the geese were starting to come in from the river and he threw the rest of his cracker at them. They began to fight over it, honking madly.  
  
Sören would have tried the foie gras to be polite, but he heard that was made from goose liver and he didn't have the heart to eat that in front of their brethren.  
  
Sure enough then, the geese began waddling over, honking like they demanded more food, though they were still several meters away. "Oh bollocks," Vincente said under his breath.  
  
"Shoo!" Trisha threw a pebble, then she picked up a rock the size of her fist and threw it, just barely missing one.  
  
"Hey!" Sören glared. "Don't throw rocks at them!"  
  
"Please don't do that," Anthony said, scowling. "They're just birds."  
  
"I don't want them over here stealing our food," Trisha said. "Or trying to fight us over it. You must realize how aggressive geese can be, surely?"  
  
"There's ways of distracting them," Sören said, rage burning through him at how narrowly close Trisha had come to killing or seriously injuring a goose, fighting off every urge he had to yank up the blanket, throwing everything to the ground - likely breaking the glass - before storming off. _Deep breaths._ "We have enough to spare, if you give them a tiny bit they'll fight over it and leave us alone."  
  
Trisha gave Sören a withering look as she took a sip of champagne.  
  
"Right," Vincente said, and then he gave Trisha's arm a squeeze and said, "Wouldn't it be hilarious if we gave them some foie gras?"  
  
Trisha snorted, almost spitting her champagne. "Oh my word, Vincente, that's _awful._ I like it."  
  
"That... no, you can't do that! That's cannibalism!" Sören said.  
  
"Yeah, they might get... mad goose disease." Vincente laughed so hard he teared up, and Trisha laughed along with him.  
  
Anthony looked a little disturbed and he said, "Guys, I don't think that's a great idea. Here." He took some of the crackers he and Sören had brought, that Trisha and Vincente hadn't touched, and began to throw them towards the geese. The geese stopped waddling towards them and made a mad scramble. Anthony didn't toss out all the crackers, as he and Sören would still want to use them for their salads and cheese, but it was enough to keep the geese busy for awhile.  
  
"Nice save," Vincente said.  
  
Anthony took a small bow.  
  
Sören tried to keep the disgust off his face as he resumed eating, but he was starting to lose his appetite. The disgusted feeling intensified as Trisha, Vincente, and Anthony picked up the conversation where they left off - as if Anthony hadn't just witnessed Trisha throwing a rock at geese, and Vincente seriously suggesting feeding them foie gras - except now the discussion shifted from work to the latest shiny new things Trisha and Vincente had bought, and their planned vacation to Bora Bora in August.  
  
_More like Boring Boring,_ Sören thought to himself, feeling bitter.  
  
Sören really just wanted to relax in the pretty park on the lovely summer day, he thought the entire purpose of coming here was to look around, notice all the little wonders of nature - like the birds flying overhead now, the birds singing in the trees, a ladybug climbing on a blade of grass nearby, the shapes the clouds made in the sky - and instead, Trisha and Vincente were showing Anthony galleries on their cell phones, all of these gadgets and trinkets and bragging about how much they cost and the high-end stores where they bought them.  
  
"Bora Bora, wow," Anthony said.  
  
"You should take Sören on holiday there sometime! I bet he'd love it, wouldn't you, Sören? Maybe get some color in that milk-white skin of yours," Trisha said.  
  
"I'm rather pale myself," Anthony reminded them. "And I think we both burn. Actually, on that note..." Anthony took out the sunblock and applied a dollop to Sören's nose. Sören would have given Anthony a nose crinkle and a giggle if they were alone, but now he managed a wan smile as Anthony worked the sunblock over his nose and cheeks.  
  
"Well, yes, I suppose the sun might be a bit strong for you, but you could bring sunblock. Papa recommends one particular resort," Trisha said.  
  
Anthony looked about as thrilled with the idea as Sören felt. "We'll see," Anthony said non-committally. "I think for us, if we ever went anyplace tropical we'd have to go in the winter, or we'd melt." Sören nodded vehemently.  
  
"On that note, have a chocolate before they melt in the sun," Vincente said. "We paid fifty quid for this box."  
  
Sören bit back a _Jesus_ and Anthony took a chocolate truffle and shoved it in Sören's mouth.  
  
Vincente offered the box to Trisha, who waved her hand and gestured to the plain crackers she was working on. She stuffed one in her mouth and shook her head with a "mm-mm."  
  
Just the sound of Trisha crunching crackers made Sören want to scream and tear what was left of his hair out. He felt an irrational surge of hatred as their eyes met, the smooth chocolate melting in Sören's mouth. _Bitch eating crackers like she owns the place._  
  
And Sören remembered again that Trisha hadn't had any of the food Sören had brought - Vincente had only tried a little bit of it. Anger surging in him, Sören took the plate of _lakkrístoppar_ and held it out to her. "Try a biscuit," Sören said.  
  
Trisha swallowed her cracker, and she slowly, hesitantly took one, her eyes studying it like it was a legal brief. Sören watched as she nibbled on it. "_Mmmmm,_" Trisha said, closing her eyes, free hand on her heart - a practiced reaction that made Sören wonder if she faked orgasms. He choked back a guffaw at that thought. "Oh, Sören, these are _divine_. Lovely." Trisha took the plate from Sören and passed it to Vincente. "You must try one."  
  
"They're like crack," Anthony said, taking one when the plate came back to him. "I wish Sören would make them more often, but I know he doesn't have a lot of time or energy, poor thing." He rubbed Sören's head affectionately, and Sören didn't know whether to smile or to glare. On the one hand he was glad Anthony liked them, on the other hand now Sören felt guilty about not making them enough.  
  
"Very nice," Vincente said in a bland tone of voice like he didn't actually think so; Sören thought Vincente was probably less of an actor than Trisha.  
  
"Yes, Sören, really. I love them," Trisha said, smiling in a way that almost seemed genuine. _Almost._ "They're delicious."  
  
That did little to comfort Sören, and he was relieved when, a little while later, they decided to pack up and go on their merry way. Sören and Anthony stopped at their flat in Kingston to get their overnight bags, already packed, and though there was a bit of food leftover from what they'd brought to the picnic - Sören had made enough for four, and it was really only he and Anthony eating it - Sören went into the fridge for the rest of the produce Anthony got at the store last night, not wanting it to go bad.  
  
Sören took a nap in the car on the way to Brighton, Anthony waking him up when they arrived. Sören saw the time - it was already six PM. They'd be leaving to go back to Kingston in roughly twenty-four hours. It felt like this little holiday was over before it even begun.  
  
Sören was not too quiet bringing his duffel bag and the food cooler in, and even less quiet when he washed his hands, swearing as he scrubbed aggressively, and then began transferring things to the fridge, banging them around.  
  
"Love?" Anthony asked, observing from a meter away, standing at the kitchen counter island. "Is something wrong?"  
  
"I don't know," Sören said, pausing. "You tell me."  
  
Anthony huffed and looked away. "Here we go again..."  
  
"Oh, what do you fucking _mean_, here we go _again_? Like this is _my_ fault? I told you I didn't want to spend a fucking afternoon with those people -"  
  
"And I told you that you could have said no -"  
  
"Except you gave me such a guilt trip. Told me how you felt 'put in the middle'." Sören made air quotes. "So if I'd said no, you would have given me that sad fucking puppy dog face all fucking weekend and _that_ wouldn't have been any fun."  
  
"I would have gotten over it, if, you know, I saw you _relax_ here in Brighton."  
  
Sören shook his head and gritted his teeth, and swore "_fáviti_" under his breath. Before he could shove what was left of the smoked trout dip in the fridge, Anthony grabbed Sören's wrist and made Sören look at him, into his eyes. Rather than feel fear, Sören felt that frisson of arousal again, cock stirring, throbbing, wondering where this would lead... wanting Anthony to drag him off, manhandle him, pound him until he was a quivering, sobbing wreck.  
  
"Sören, like I told you a few days ago, they're _trying_. Hell, can't you see that? They wanted to do something nice for you, they went to a lot of trouble and money to put all of that together -"  
  
"Like the caviar and foie gras?" Sören yanked his hand away and slammed the smoked trout dip in the fridge. "That just made me feel like an asshole, Anthony."  
  
"What?" Anthony looked genuinely confused.  
  
"Do you not get it? This... this constant flaunting _wealth_ around that they do. It felt less like they were trying to be nice and treat me, and more like they were... showing off. 'Oh look what we have, and you don't.'"  
  
"I don't think they were trying to do that, Sören." Anthony looked shocked now... and a little hurt. "My god, do you think I'm doing that when I -"  
  
"Not you," Sören said, though Sören was starting to wonder if gifts like the Rolex, and the sapphire and tanzanite studs in his ears, were from Anthony wanting to fulfill some old-fashioned masculine idea of "taking care of his partner", a gift born as much from pride as it was from love. "But them? Já, I do."  
  
"Dear god, Sören." Anthony sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. I honestly thought it was very nice of them to go all out for us like that."  
  
"Yeah, you would," Sören muttered before he could stop himself.  
  
Of course, Anthony heard that.  
  
Anthony turned around and started walking off.  
  
"Where do you think you're going?" Sören called out to him, fresh anger boiling. _Don't you fucking walk away from me._  
  
"To lay down." Anthony sounded very tired all of a sudden.  
  
Sören let him go, watching as Anthony strode out of the kitchen and made his way to the bedroom. Sören's shoulders heaved with a deep sigh, and he worked on getting the rest of everything put away. He brought a lemon San Pellegrino to the coffee table, fished his tablet out of his duffel bag, and sank down on the couch with a huff.  
  
  
_  
  
  
For the next while, Sören tried to channel his anger into sketching. Another sketch of the other-him, looking fierce, the storm inside him expressed outwardly in the billow of his hair, the fire in his eyes. He kept seeing the ships from the painting he'd finished recently. _Burn them all. Burn them all._  
  
But before that, the way he'd _snapped_. The way something in him had broken, all the world greyed, faded, more quiet than usual. Hollow.  
  
Sören started to sketch the other-Anthony, facing the other-him, and he saw his stylus sketch grief, regret. Matching the fire of rage in the other-him with an equally hot fire of pain.  
  
He couldn't take it anymore. He put the tablet down on the coffee table and put his feet up, burying his face in his hands.  
  
He had to do _something_ with this feeling, and he didn't want to draw anymore today. Not for the first time, Sören cursed his asthma, getting in the way of him doing something physical to blow off steam like run or lift weights.  
  
He found himself getting up, going to the kitchen. He took an inventory of what was in the fridge, both the leftovers from their picnic, and the produce they'd brought, and then he looked in the freezer and cupboards for food they kept on hand for their trips to Brighton. He decided to leave the picnic leftovers for tomorrow, and they could eat something different tonight - soup and a salad. Sören took out cans of soup, but those would be prepared last, when Anthony finally dragged himself out of bed. In the meantime...  
  
Sören washed his hands and made a dressing for the salad with olive oil, vinegar, herbs and spices from the cupboards. He pushed the bowl of dressing aside, then he began to chop lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumber, channeling his anger through the knife, rage with each blow. As a practiced neurosurgeon he was usually very careful, very precise, when he cut vegetables, but now in the heat of his anger, the raw, visceral feeling of stabbing, of getting the hurt out blow by blow, he ended up accidentally cutting his finger, crying out at the sharp lash. He watched his finger bleed onto the cutting board and his instinct as a doctor was to go wash his hands, bandage the wound and not contaminate the food, but he was so angry that he snarled, "Fuck it," and continued chopping.  
  
He heard Anthony coming into the kitchen, coming up behind him. "Sören? I heard all that noise, I came out to see if you're OK..."  
  
"I'm fine," Sören snapped through clenched teeth, feeling the beginning hot sting of tears.  
  
"No, you're not fine." Anthony came closer, and then he was right behind him. He took the knife out of Sören's hand and then he took Sören's other hand, with the bleeding finger, and he put the finger to his lips, kissing it.  
  
That broke the wall around his heart, and the tears flowed. Sören heard himself sob, felt himself shake.  
  
"Shhhhh," Anthony whispered, tenderly kissing the finger again. Then he let go of Sören's finger and he tilted Sören's face to his, and their lips brushed, softly, sweetly, and then he claimed Sören's mouth, their tongues meeting, searching, playing, dancing. Sören moaned into the kiss and Anthony groaned, the kiss deepening, the heat between them rising.  
  
Before Sören knew what was happening, the knife was in Anthony's hand and at Sören's throat. Sören gasped as he felt the blade press against his skin, just enough to feel the bite of it, not enough to cut the flesh, not yet. Anthony held the knife there and began to kiss down Sören's neck, lips and tongue teasing everywhere he knew Sören was sensitive. Then he licked his way up Sören's neck, and the fingers of Anthony's free hand brushed a trail down Sören's spine, knowing how sensitive he was there, too. Sören's cock leapt to attention and he whimpered, biting his lip, _wanting_. Hungry.  
  
"I'm sorry that you felt so uncomfortable this afternoon," Anthony whispered, before another round of slow, sensual kisses down Sören's neck, making him break out in gooseflesh, making his nipples harden against his shirt, making Sören quiver. "But you know I would never hurt you." The blade bit into Sören's skin just a little harder, hard enough for him to wince, but still not drawing blood yet.  
  
And then, with a deft move of his wrist, Anthony lowered the blade and it sliced down Sören's shirt. Anthony's free hand rent it, tearing it from Sören's flesh, leaving him shirtless, the ruined garment falling to the floor. The knife was back at Sören's throat and then it trailed down over his chest, to glide over one nipple, and across his heart to the other, as Anthony kissed Sören's neck, kissed and licked and nibbled Sören's shoulder. Sören had to hang onto the counter to steady himself, panting, whimpering.  
  
"Your body doesn't lie, Sören." Anthony's free hand reached down to the hard bulge tenting Sören's jean shorts, palming, rubbing gently. The knife continued to bite against Sören's sensitive, aching nipples, making them throb, making Sören's cock pulse with need, making his hole twitch, needing to be filled and _now._ "You want me. And you want me because you trust me. You know I look out for you. I take care of you." Anthony nibbled on Sören's neck, kissed along his jaw, licked the shell of his ear. "Because you're mine."  
  
"Oh god." Sören let out another helpless whimper, shuddering. His fists clenched against the counter. "Anthony, _please._"  
  
"Please what, darling?" Anthony licked his ear again, licked his jaw, licked down his neck.  
  
"Give us what we both need. I need it so bad..."  
  
Keeping the knife at Sören's throat, Anthony reached down for Sören's belt. Sören helped him get the belt off, hearing it clatter to the floor, helped him get the jean shorts and boxer-briefs down, pooling around his ankles on the floor. Then Anthony grabbed the bottle of olive oil just sitting there near the bowl of salad dressing, and Sören unscrewed the bottle. He heard the pouring noise, and then he felt Anthony's slick fingers inside him. Sören cried out as Anthony's fingers found that spot right away, rubbing in circles.  
  
"Fuck," Anthony groaned, and he nibbled Sören's shoulder, nibbled that deliciously erogenous place where the neck and shoulder met. All the while his fingers working their wicked magic on that button inside Sören's channel, knowing exactly how to pleasure him, having learned his body well over the last year and a half. Between the thrill of the knife at his throat, Anthony's mouth on his shoulder and neck, and the fingers rubbing that spot inside him, Sören was quickly turned into a sobbing, whimpering wreck, shaking, cock making a mess on the counter with how much precum he was leaking.  
  
Finally Sören heard Anthony undo his own bottom garments - Anthony withdrew the knife for just a second, putting the blade between his teeth as he got them down, making Sören giggle madly, and then Anthony made him pay for laughing once he took the knife out of his mouth and crushed Sören's mouth to his, nipping Sören's lower lip hard enough to draw blood as Sören heard the sound of the oil bottle again.  
  
With one hand holding the knife to Sören's throat, and the other hand on Sören's heart, arm around him possessively, Anthony pushed in. Sören's breath caught as Anthony pushed in and in and in, seemingly endless, and at last he was buried to the hilt and they both groaned together.  
  
Anthony kept the knife at his throat as he began to thrust, hard and fast, kissing Sören's neck roughly, fiercely, nibbling so much Sören knew he would have love bites later. Sören rocked his hips back at Anthony, matching his rhythm and then some, giving back as good as he got, fucking himself on Anthony's cock. "Take it," Sören moaned. "Take it, fuck it, fuck me..."  
  
And then at last Anthony came into the fullness of his power, Sören bent over the counter, one hand seizing Sören's short curls, grabbing them hard, as the other trailed the knife up and down from his throat down to his heart, over one nipple and the other, down to his sensitive stomach and back up. "Mine," Anthony ground out through clenched teeth, slamming into him harder and harder. "Mine, and nobody gets to take you from me ever again."  
  
A shiver went down Sören's spine, and in his mind's eye he could briefly see his other-self pushing other-Anthony away, making him leave. _Go._ Anthony departing with other people. Never looking back.  
  
"Nobody. Is. Taking. You. From. Me."  
  
"Oh god." Sören shuddered and let out a little keening howl. He was so close, so close, feeling the tension build in his thighs, his balls, rising with each delicious stroke inside him. "Oh god. Oh god, Anthony, please, _please_..."  
  
"I love you, you damn stubborn..." Anthony gave a deep, menacing growl, not able to finish the sentence - Sören's cock jolted, dripping more precum, and Sören moaned. He loved the sound of that growl, the sound of Anthony's hunger, the suave professional who lived so much in his mind now purely animal, carnal, all base, raw male need.  
  
Anthony seemed to know what that did to him, and his free hand let go of Sören's hair and now it was on Sören's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, his thumb rubbing the sensitive frenulum in time with his thrusts. Sören cried out and grabbed the counter, hearing himself whimpering again, the pleasure building and building, sending him rushing to that point of no return.  
  
And then he was right there. "Anthony. Oh god, _Anthony_, yes..."  
  
"_Sören_." Anthony came with him, letting the knife drop as he collapsed onto Sören, shaking and spending into him, giving that shuddery gasp Sören loved so well.  
  
Sören felt himself clench and clench around Anthony's cock, spurting over the edge of the counter and onto the floor, sobbing as the ecstasy throbbed through him, pulsing like the heart of the universe itself.  
  
"I love you," Anthony whispered, a hand on Sören's head. "I love you, sweetheart."  
  
"I love you." Sören closed his eyes and the tears flowed again.  
  
They rested there a moment, before Anthony pulled out of him and then Sören heard Anthony chuckle. "Fuck, we made a mess."  
  
Sören stood up, stretching, and looked down and saw the cum all over the kitchen floor. His laughter rang out, echoing. "Oh my god."  
  
"I'll clean it while you, um. Get back to... uh. Kitchen duty there."  
  
They took a walk after dinner, watching the sunset and the tide on the shingle beach, Anthony standing behind him and looking over his shoulder, arms tight around him. For the briefest moment Sören's mind's eye saw ships in the water and then they were gone, and the breeze was stirring around them in a way that Sören knew the hair of their other-selves would be billowing, flowing. The golden glow of the last light reminded Sören of the way his other-self saw Anthony's other-self for the last time.  
  
_Nothing gold can stay._  
  
"I need you," Sören heard himself say aloud.  
  
Anthony let go of him, and for the briefest instant Sören wondered if he was going to say _don't be needy_ but then Anthony was turning him to face him, and Anthony's hands were on his shoulders and he looked into Sören's eyes. "I need you too. God help me, Sören, I need you."  
  
Sören saw Anthony's eyes were too bright, and Sören's arms flew around him, gathering him close. They kissed deeply, fiercely, and then they dragged each other back to the beach house.  
  
  
_  
  
  
"They are talking about me again."  
  
Sören's fists clench. He can feel the rage like a hot knife. Already, he wants their blood.  
  
Anthony puts an arm on Sören's shoulder, rubbing, trying to soothe. "If you do not let them talk, they will think you are a tyrant, seeking to control them rather than lead them."  
  
"Do they not already think that?" Sören shakes his head and laughs bitterly. "Let them fear me. At least they will respect me."  
  
"If they fear you, they will come to hate you. And if they _hate_ you, they will eventually rise up against you. If they are allowed to express their criticisms in a constructive manner, they will see some of those criticisms are invalid just by virtue of being allowed to be expressed." Anthony turns Sören to face him. He puts his hands on Sören's cheeks, stroking, love in his eyes. "Let me go to them. Let me offer to give them a voice. I do not agree with them, but if I pretend to..."  
  
Sören nods. He knows what Anthony is saying makes too much sense. He doesn't need an uprising; he needs his people united in this time.  
  
And so Anthony goes to them. Becomes the leader of the dissent. And in the night, when all have retired, Anthony warms Sören's bed, sometimes with their other brother on the other side. Anthony assures Sören with his body, with his touch, with his kiss, that he is really on Sören's side and is doing what he doesn't really want to do, to keep things from getting worse.  
  
And yet Sören begins to wonder, if Anthony is becoming the mask. He is so convincing in his role. "I sometimes think, brother, you agree a bit more than you say you do."  
  
Anthony sighs. "Not this again," he mutters.  
  
And in the end, after Anthony is gone, there are still those who remain who talk, who didn't leave with him. Sören can feel their fear; he can feel their hatred.  
  
"Burn them all."  
  
He watches the ships go up in flames. And he laughs. Because he will not let them see him cry.


	38. Watch the Weather Change

It was Thursday, July eleventh, and the night of Sören's second art show. Like the first one, the show was being held at Blue Moon, the gallery in Bermondsey. Unlike the first one, Sören was not wearing a suit - having seen from the first show that he didn't need to - and instead he was wearing a white ruffly poet blouse with a black vest and black leather trousers. Anthony was in a suit and tie, charcoal grey with a waistcoat, looking dapper. They made an interesting contrast, making the rounds of the gallery arm in arm.  
  
Sören had been spending most of his spare time - what little of it there was - working on art since losing a patient in April. He still truthfully wasn't "over" the death on his operating table, and he didn't know if he ever would be. Moreso than the two other times he'd lost a patient, Sören felt like this loss had ripped open a wound and it was festering. The loss of the patient felt like a microcosm of Sören losing control over his life. In a few seconds Sören was reminded of how short life was, how anyone could go at any time, and he felt like he'd spent the last twenty-eight years doing much and accomplishing little. And while he loved Anthony fiercely, Sören's brother Dag had raised questions that left serious doubts in Sören's mind, punctuated by the attitude of Anthony's friends... and Anthony's continued association with those friends, even when he knew they made Sören uncomfortable. It was easier for Sören to withdraw into his art and escape there, not having to think too much about things.  
  
So he had a lot of new art to show this time around. And Sören took pride in watching the crowd look at his work, watching them study it, and offer praise. Especially when he wasn't the only artist they were here to see - the star of this exhibit was a semi-famous Greek painter named Athanasios Andrianakis, who painted in an Impressionist style with bold, bright colors, and his personality was as loud as the colors he chose. Athanasios Andrianakis had also insisted on certain things for the exhibit, like bouzouki music, and Greek food at the appetizer table, including shots of ouzo.  
  
As ill at ease as Sören usually felt among crowds, a couple of shots of ouzo mellowed him, and at least this time Anthony's friends were there - Sören didn't want to care, since they weren't really his friends, but he also had felt hurt when none of them attended back in March, so seeing them at the exhibit was almost a hopeful sign.  
  
Almost. Sören once again had a bad feeling about this, amplified every time he looked across the room at Trisha. He knew Trisha didn't like him and the feeling was mutual.  
  
And he wondered if any of Anthony's friends liked him. Sören got the sense that they'd shown up because Anthony had put pressure on them, had guilted them, and they wouldn't otherwise be here.  
  
That bad, shoe-about-to-drop feeling intensified when Sören heard Jack call over, "Anthony, come look at this!"  
  
"Be right back," Anthony said, squeezing Sören's waist and kissing his cheek before stepping off.  
  
Sören watched him go over to his clique, and Jack was playing a video on his phone. Trisha, Vincente and Steve laughed at the video like it was the funniest thing they'd ever seen, and Anthony chuckled too. Lawrence looked at Sören across the room and gave a little eyeroll as if to say _these fucking guys_, before smiling and laughing as well.  
  
Sören felt irritation flare in him. _All right, you've seen the stupid video, now get back over here._  
  
But then Jack was showing them something else. And then something else. And then something else. And then Trisha took out her phone, and had produced some sort of gallery and was passing the phone around.  
  
The irritation was now full-blown anger. This was Sören's big night, and here he was, standing alone while his own partner was off looking at stupid shit on other people's phones. Yes, Anthony had seen all the paintings before - including on display, when last week Sören and Anthony had come to the gallery by themselves to look at the paintings hung up and offer their opinion on whether or not it looked all right, where things looked best. But it didn't matter to Sören whether this was Anthony's first time seeing them or the hundredth time. This was his show, he felt like Anthony was supposed to be here paying attention to him, offering support and encouragement just by his presence, and there he was watching videos on YouTube and looking at his friends' galleries, which made Sören feel unimportant. Not just unimportant, but insignificant. Sören felt small in a way he had not since he was a child, and that was a very bad feeling.  
  
Sören wanted to cry, but he did not.  
  
He waited a little while longer - five minutes, ten, fifteen - to see if Anthony would pull his head out of his ass and rejoin Sören of his own accord. But he was still over there, chitchatting and laughing with his friends like he was at a pub instead of at Sören's art show.  
  
Sören felt ready to explode. His fists clenched, and he internally weighed what to do - whether to stay and continue to endure this indignity, go over there and chew Anthony out and make a scene, or call a cab and just leave. As he mulled it over, Athanasios came over to him with a shot of ouzo.  
  
"Where is your man?" the Greek asked. He had short, messy salt-and-pepper hair, a trim figure that looked nice in a cerulean tunic and loose-fitting royal blue breeches, a handsome chiselled face, dark eyes, olive skin that was just starting to wrinkle from age - maybe mid-to-late fifties if Sören had to guess. The sort of man Sören would have gladly fucked back in his promiscuous days.  
  
"Over there," Sören said, making a subtle gesture.  
  
"I see. Why is he not with you?"  
  
Sören shrugged and downed the ouzo, then immediately wished he hadn't, remembering when he got roofied in Iceland. _This is how upset I am, I'm throwing caution to the fucking wind. Jesus._  
  
"You know," Athanasios muttered, "if I was your man, I wouldn't do that to you." Athanasios glanced at Sören with heat in his eyes, his gaze raking Sören up and down. "We could make beautiful art together, you and I. Think about it."  
  
As flattering as the attention was - as handsome as Athanasios was - Sören felt uncomfortable. Yes, it was definitely wrong that Anthony was paying attention to his friends and not Sören on Sören's big night, and that raised a red flag with Sören. But Sören wasn't about to just leave Anthony for some guy he barely knew, either, especially not someone who so clearly saw him as fresh meat.  
  
"Excuse me," Sören said, giving a tight smile as he walked away.  
  
He walked straight to Anthony. "Hi," Sören said.  
  
"Oh, hey you," Anthony said, putting an arm around Sören. Then he grinned. "Jack, show him that video!"  
  
"Which one?" Jack asked, smirking. "We looked at so many."  
  
Anthony laughed. Sören did not laugh. Anthony noticed Sören was scowling right away, and Anthony asked him, "What's wrong?"  
  
_Do you even_ fucking _have to ask._ Sören looked right at Trisha and said, "I think I'm getting a migraine."  
  
Trisha blinked slowly but otherwise registered no reaction, simply sipped on a bottle of Perrier.  
  
"Awwwww, honey." Anthony kissed Sören's cheek again. "Well, can you tough it out another twenty minutes, and then we can go? I'd hate to see you leave so early on your big night."  
  
Sören fought the urge to backhand him right there in public. He was horrified with that urge - he did not believe in hitting one's partners, he'd witnessed plenty of incidents where his aunt and uncle hit each other as he was growing up and he was not going to be _like that_ \- but he had gone from irritated to angry to enraged. More than anything else Anthony had said or done that evening, this offended him the most. Anthony sure hadn't asked Trisha to "tough it out" when Trisha claimed she had a migraine, excusing her absence. And for all of Anthony's acknowledgment that this was Sören's big night, he sure wasn't acting like it, over here with his friends like nothing was going on.  
  
Sören took a few deep breaths. "Would you excuse us for a moment?" Sören asked, and then he grabbed Anthony by his sleeve and started dragging him.  
  
When they were several meters away from Anthony's clique, Sören got in front of Anthony and just glared.  
  
Anthony blinked slowly, looking a bit in shock. "Sören. Are... are you OK? What's going on. Did someone say something about your art? Was someone a prick to you? I'll go -"  
  
"Yes, Anthony, someone was a prick to me. _You._"  
  
"Oh shit." Anthony swallowed hard.  
  
"Yeah, _oh shit_ is right." Sören gave him a little shove. "The fuck is wrong with you?" Sören tried to keep his voice down, but now some people were staring at them, and now it was Anthony's turn to grab Sören - by the hem of his shirt instead of his sleeve - and drag him into a corner.  
  
"When Jack called me over, what was I supposed to do? Say no? And I felt like I'd be rude if I ducked out of there -"  
  
"So let me get this straight... you felt like you'd be rude to _your friends_ if after a couple of videos you said, 'Hey guys, I'm here to support my partner at his art show, I'll look at this stuff another time'... and it didn't register with you that you staying there for over a half-hour was rude _to me_. Your _partner_. The man you are going to marry in November."  
  
Anthony exhaled sharply. "I really didn't realize that it was going to upset you. I thought maybe you'd be interacting with gallery patrons, talking to them about your work, getting feedback -"  
  
"Even if I was doing that, and you know by now how I am with starting conversations with strangers about something so personal to me, I'd still want you at my side, Anthony." Sören shook his head. "I can't fucking believe you."  
  
"Sören, please lower your voice. You're making a scene again, people are looking at us again -"  
  
"As opposed to _you_ making a scene by being conspicuously absent at my side and hanging out over there for the last half-hour. You know that Athanasios Whateverthefuckis came over to me and felt sorry for me and shit?" Sören decided not to tell Anthony that the Greek artist had hit on him. "Considering how wrapped up he's been in the show and being Mr. Life of the Party, the fact that even _he_ noticed this says _a lot_ about what a bad fucking _look_ it is for you to just flake out on me like this."  
  
Anthony took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and then their eyes met and Anthony took Sören's hand and kissed it. "Look. Sören. Honey. Sweetheart. I fucked up. We can discuss this at home, in private, the two of us. I don't want to cause more of a scene than we already have, and make you look unprofessional enough that it costs you future shows. So if you can calm down a little, we can go home in fifteen minutes and once we're home..."  
  
"_Fine,_" Sören spat, and then he started stalking off, making a beeline for the refreshment table.  
  
"Where are you going? I thought you wanted me at your side."  
  
Sören flipped him off over his shoulder, not caring if other people saw and it continued to create a scene - _Scene this, asshole_. The time for Anthony to be at his side during this had come and gone. Now Sören just wanted to get out of there, and if he couldn't get out of there, he was going to drink. He felt like he was going to need a few more drinks to deal with whatever conversation they had when they got home, anyway.  
  
Sören's march slowed down when he saw Trisha and Vincente at the refreshment table, feeding each other olives. Sören felt his face scrunch up. He didn't want to go to the table until they were gone, not wanting them to see him, and he thought about heading back towards Anthony, but something told him to hold his position.  
  
Trisha's ice-blue eyes locked with his across the crowd, from a few meters away, and her lips quirked - not in a smile, but a sort of sneer. She had _definitely_ seen him.  
  
Sören's heart was hammering in his ears now, and he braced himself.  
  
Trisha leaned in closer to Vincente. "I'm so glad they have Greek food at the refreshment table and not Icelandic food," Trisha said, making Vincente grin. "Can you imagine?" Trisha made a vomiting gesture.  
  
"Calling Icelandic cuisine 'food' is an insult to food," Vincente said, chuckling.  
  
_How the fuck would you know? You didn't even try anything I brought to the picnic, apart from that cookie._ Sören felt his fists clench.  
  
"Well, you've got that right." Trisha nibbled on a cube of feta cheese. "Although I must say, though I'm a fan of Greek food, I dislike ouzo immensely. I _hate_ the taste of licorice."  
  
Something in Sören's head snapped. His mind's eye conjured the image of Trisha at the picnic in June, trying one of the _lakkrístoppar_ cookies he'd been up all night making, along with the other Icelandic food they disparaged - the _lakkrístoppar_ had chocolate and licorice. And after she'd tried the cookie at the picnic, Trisha had put her hand on her heart, closing her eyes as she said, "_Mmmmm. Oh, Sören, these are divine. Lovely._"  
  
_Sounds to me like you didn't like it at all, and that makes you a fucking lying-ass liar._ Sören was seething now, heart pounding in his ears even harder, his stomach doing nauseating flips. He didn't actually have a headache when he'd told Anthony he felt a migraine coming on, hoping Trisha would get the _I see through you_ hint, but now his head was starting to throb. Sören walked towards them and when he knew they were in close enough range to hear him he stopped. "Oh, you hate licorice, do you? Funny, you said 'bring anything you want to the picnic', but you didn't tell me what you _didn't_ want. Wish you would have done so before I went to all the damn trouble of slaving in the kitchen for hours to try to make something nice for you."  
  
And then before Trisha or Vincente could respond, Sören dipped back into the crowd, as angry as he'd ever been in his entire life.  
  
Sören stormed over to Anthony, who looked startled when he saw the naked, undisguised rage on Sören's face. "What now?" Anthony asked.  
  
_What do you mean, what now. Like I'm being fucking unreasonable for being upset at the mess_ you _fucking caused._ "We're going home," Sören snarled. "_Now._" _Fuck waiting another fifteen minutes._  
  
Anthony kept glancing over at Sören as he drove them back to Kingston - as if he were waiting for Sören to start the conversation they needed to have to clear the air - and Sören just sat there in stony silence, so angry he couldn't make words anymore. Not yet.  
  
They were silent all the way upstairs, and finally when Sören followed Anthony inside, Sören slammed the door behind him. It was that slam that made Anthony whirl around and break the silence.  
  
"All right," Anthony hissed. "I get it that you're angry, and I'm not going to tell you that you've no right to be. But you will _not_ slam that door, or start getting... aggressive. We have neighbors, and we don't need them complaining." Anthony pointed to the couch. "Go have a seat. I'll make tea."  
  
"Don't you tell me what to do," Sören said - even though he would have, in fact, sat on the couch of his own accord, and Anthony knew Sören was a creature of habit and likely to sit there, it was the way Anthony phrased it that Sören bristled at. Now was not the time for Anthony to be ordering him around. Now was the time for Anthony to beg his forgiveness.  
  
"Sören... if we're going to discuss this like adults, I'd really prefer you sit down. Please." But the way Anthony looked at him now told Sören the _please_ was just a courtesy, and he was starting to respond to Sören's anger with anger of his own.  
  
Sören sat and folded his arms. Anthony calmly made tea - too calmly. Watching him putter around - watching the space between his actions, where Anthony paused, looking lost in thought - Sören wondered how Anthony was in the courtroom. If he was like this there, too.  
  
When the tea was ready, Anthony brought it over, and wisely sat in the armchair rather than on the other side of Sören on the couch. For a few moments they drank tea in another painful silence, and finally Anthony put his cup down and said, "I'm sorry."  
  
Sören leaned back in his chair. "For."  
  
Anthony made a vague hand gesture. "For not staying at your side during the show. For going off and socializing with my friends when you needed me there with you." Anthony exhaled sharply. "It's like I said in the gallery, Sören. I didn't realize this would upset you, or I would have -"  
  
Sören raised his index finger and then he pointed. And kept pointing, his hand shaking. "See, that's exactly it. More than you not being there when I needed you, on my big night, I'm upset that it didn't even occur to you that I needed you there, that this would bother me. After over a fucking year and a half together, after baring my fucking soul to you, you didn't even _realize_ how much that would upset me? Do you not fucking know me at all?"  
  
"I'm not a mind reader, Sören -"  
  
"No, but you are a barrister. You observe people for a living and to all accounts you're bloody good at it, which is why people are afraid of you, which is why they call you the Shark, because you know when they're bleeding, you know when to strike. Why then, after a year and a half, you can't put those same skills to use and see how much something like what you did tonight would hurt me..."  
  
"What do you want me to say, Sören? What do you hope to get out of this exchange? I told you I'm sorry. I am bloody _sorry_. I _know_ I fucked up. I told you that. I didn't, at the time, realize how much I'd fucked up, because like I said - I'm not a mind reader. Eviscerating a witness for the prosecution on the stand is _quite a bit_ different than trying to figure out all of the inner workings of the man I love, even when you have, as you put it, bared your soul to me. Sometimes it's harder to see what's in front of your own face, than what's on the face of other people. And that's on me. I'm not making excuses for myself, all I can tell you is I'll try to do better going forward. I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean to, but I did, and..."  
  
"And here we are, with a mess that could have been completely avoided if you didn't have such shitty friends."  
  
Anthony buried his face in his hands and sighed deeply. When he took his hands away from his face there were tears in his eyes, and Sören almost felt bad - almost - but before Sören could feel too guilty about perhaps being a little too hard on him, Anthony said, his voice shaking, "Sören, I don't know what you want from me, but... this conversation is going nowhere productive."  
  
"Oh no." Sören started point-point-pointing again, shaking with anger. "See... you're wrong about that. I just said something true, I just got to the heart of the matter, and now you're shutting the conversation down because you know I'm right -"  
  
"You're putting me in the middle, and I don't appreciate it." And before Sören could say anything in response, Anthony got up from the armchair and put his teacup in the sink. Then he started walking out of the living room.  
  
"Where do you think you're going?"  
  
"To bed. Because I am done with this discussion. Like I said, we're past the point of productive communication. I told you I'm sorry. I told you that I will try to do better going forward. That's the best I can do. I'm not going to sit here and be crucified all night."  
  
Anthony walked past him down the hall and Sören, rage surging in him once more, rose from the couch and shouted after him, "Oh, you think I'm _crucifying_ you? Poor little rich boy can't take someone calling him on his shit because Mummy and Daddy thought he was wonderful and could do no wrong? Boy, if you respond to your partner saying he's hurting and in pain with saying that he's _crucifying_ you, I guess we can never have a difficult discussion ever again, can we?"  
  
Anthony's response to that was to slam the bedroom door.  
  
And _that_ pissed off Sören more than anything else Anthony had said or done that evening - Anthony's concern for the door-slamming when he got home, claiming it was for the sake of the neighbors, and now he was clearly disregarding that himself, which made him a hypocrite, and made Sören think he wasn't actually concerned for how the neighbors would react, as he just didn't want to deal with Sören's "tone". "WON'T SOMEONE THINK OF THE NEIGHBORS?" Sören shouted, needing to get in one last dig.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören slept on the couch that night - or mostly, didn't sleep, laying awake for most of the night, continuing to stew in his anger. At some point he was vaguely aware of the sound of Anthony in the bathroom, washing up and brushing his teeth, and Sören wondered about going to him, and then the door was shut again - much more gently than before, but Sören still heard it close.  
  
Sören had work at seven AM on Friday morning, and usually Anthony drove him when Sören was going into work before he did, but as soon as Sören heard Anthony's alarm go off at five, when Anthony went to the bathroom Sören went to the bedroom to quickly retrieve his scrubs, got changed, and left, taking the Tube. He was early, but he didn't want to be around Anthony that morning. Sören questioned his own sanity as he scrubbed in, that he'd barely slept and maybe he shouldn't be performing surgery like this, but then, he'd survived with little sleep before, and he managed to get through the day without errors.  
  
Sören was done at three PM, took the Tube home, and after washing his hands and changing his clothes, he crawled into bed, exhausted. He smelled Anthony on the sheets and pillowcase and it made him cry a little, until he fell asleep a few minutes later.  
  
He was woken up by the feeling of weight on the bed, a hand petting him. Sören opened his eyes and he saw Anthony sitting on the bed, in a navy blue suit and light blue shirt, with such sadness in his eyes that it brought tears to Sören's own. Anthony stroked Sören's cheek and then Sören noticed a bouquet of stargazer lilies was sitting on the bedtable. Sören sat up, and Anthony got down from the bed, got on the floor on his knees, and rested his head in Sören's lap. "Forgive me," he said, his voice husky with emotion.  
  
Sören looked at the flowers again - as pretty as they were, for the first time since their relationship began, the flowers felt like a hollow offering rather than something genuine, like it was too easy for Anthony to throw his money at the situation to try to fix it. And Sören _hated_ that this was his reaction, that he couldn't accept the flowers at face value as he had so many times before, that even a gift from Anthony to try to smooth things over felt like a microcosm of everything that was mismatched about them.  
  
Sören looked down and saw the ache in those green eyes, and instinctively his hand went to rest on Anthony's head. Sören asked himself, _Is my love for him stronger than this hurt._  
  
And the answer, for the moment, was yes. He knew Anthony had taken time on the way home from work to get the bouquet, to try to express his feelings somehow. Anthony was trying. That was what mattered.  
  
"I love you," Sören said.  
  
Anthony rose - still on his knees - and he threw his arms around Sören and held him tight. "I am so, so, so, so, so, so sorry. I know I fucked up."  
  
"You did."  
  
"I know. I am so sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean to. I don't want to fight with you. Please." Anthony pulled back and looked into Sören's eyes. "I'm sorry I shut you out last night. I was hoping you'd just come in and -" Anthony didn't finish the sentence, just bit his lower lip, cheeks pink.  
  
"And?"  
  
Anthony gave him a guilty little grin and Sören knew immediately what that meant, and Sören rolled his eyes and started laughing, and Anthony laughed too, and then they kissed, and that broke the dam. Sören started crying, sobbing. Anthony got up, sat back on the bed beside Sören, and pulled Sören close, letting Sören cry into his suit, rocking him. "Shhhhh, love. It's OK."  
  
"It's not OK. I _hurt._" Sören wept harder.  
  
"I know. Shhhh, I know. I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry."  
  
Anthony continued rocking him as Sören cried and cried and cried. Every time the sobs would start to subside, Anthony would pet Sören's curls, rub his back, and Anthony's touch would undo Sören all over again, thawing the ice, bringing the flood. Sören could feel Anthony shaking a little bit, and when Sören looked up at him and saw Anthony was in fact crying too, silently, that wrecked Sören even harder, wailing, howling, feeling like he was going mad with the intensity of emotions, overwhelming, all-consuming.  
  
Anthony held him for a long time, petting him, letting Sören cry as long as he needed to. At last Sören had to get up to use the bathroom, and when he came back Anthony was quietly changing into pajamas. They paused to look at each other and then Anthony shifted his weight from one foot to another and rubbed his head, and asked, "Do you want something to eat?"  
  
Sören nodded. "I'm not hungry but I should eat something."  
  
Sören expected Anthony to suggest takeaway, but Anthony said, "I'll make you grilled cheese." Sören managed a weak smile at that - Anthony knew that was his favorite - and Sören got back on the bed, holding Tony the stuffed tiger, feeling that sickening drop in adrenaline he got after having a meltdown.  
  
Anthony came in a short while later with grilled cheese for both of them. They ate in bed, and when they were finished eating, Anthony set the tray aside and pulled Sören back into his arms. Sören snuggled against him and Anthony resumed petting his curls. Then Anthony rubbed his nose in them and kissed the top of Sören's head. Anthony pulled back a little and looked Sören in the eye. "You still have the weekend off, right?"  
  
Sören nodded.  
  
"You want to go to Brighton?" They hadn't discussed weekend plans yet - the week had been dominated by the craziness surrounding Sören's show on Thursday.  
  
"OK," Sören said. He liked Brighton, and it would be nice to get away for a couple of days.  
  
"OK." Anthony pulled Sören back against his chest. "I love you, you know."  
  
"I know." Sören _did_ know it - despite everything that had happened on Thursday. Anthony couldn't undo what was done, but he was trying to make it right now. Sören knew he was trying. Even more than the gift of the flowers, or his apologetic words, Sören could feel it in his touch, could feel it in the strong arms holding him, the shield wall of Anthony's chest, giving him a safe place to just cry it out... to just be. "I love you too," Sören said, honestly.  
  
Anthony kissed Sören's brow. "That's all I needed to hear."  
  
Anthony turned off the light, but neither of them went to sleep right away. Anthony held Sören for a long time, and Sören cried off and on, as Anthony pet him, made little soothing noises.  
  
  
_  
  
  
When Anthony's alarm went off on Saturday morning, they both grumbled. Anthony shut off the alarm and he put his arms back around Sören, who was still curled up on Anthony's chest, their legs braided. For awhile they just lay in bed, holding each other; Sören listened to Anthony's heartbeat, the sound of his breath, as Anthony traced little circles and spirals on Sören's shoulder to the rhythm of his heart. Sören wished they could stay like this forever, cozy and peaceful, this place where all was forgiven, this place where they weren't hurting each other.  
  
Sören wondered how long it would be before one of them would get hurt again. How bad it would be next time. How much work they would have to do to fix things.  
  
Sören was still hurt from Anthony's behavior at his show, and he disliked Anthony's friends even more now - he couldn't shake the feeling that even if Anthony had not been deliberately trying to slight him on his big night, Anthony's friends _were_. That it wasn't simply that Anthony's friends were too inane to do something like go to an art show without needing to entertain themselves with viral videos on YouTube and picture galleries of their latest "bling" - Sören suspected there had been genuine malice in Anthony's friends luring him away during the show, and despite having a good nose for who was guilty and who was innocent in his legal carer, Anthony couldn't see the guile happening right in front of him. And Sören was stung from Anthony stating that Sören's concerns and complaints were "putting him in the middle", as if Sören and Anthony's friends were on equal footing, when Sören felt that as his partner, he should be given a bit more consideration.  
  
He wondered how much farther things were going to go with Anthony's friends, what it would take for Anthony to snap and wake up and see them for what they were... and if they'd drive Sören out of the picture first.  
  
Sören was still angry, and he was worried, but he was trying to not hold a grudge against Anthony, to see Anthony's faux pas on Thursday night as an innocent mistake on his part, and Anthony's apologies and attempts to make things right as genuine. He was trying to not freeze Anthony out, and here and now as they lay together, things almost felt normal again.  
  
Anthony finally rubbed Sören's head and kissed his brow. "Honey, we should start getting up if we're going to Brighton today."  
  
They took turns showering, and brushed their teeth together in the bathroom, making faces at each other in the mirror. They packed bags, loaded up the Audi, and they were off. They took a stop on the way to get breakfast - both of them got a full English breakfast, though Sören asked to hold the beans, and when Anthony's plate came, Sören snickered at it.  
  
"Who the fuck puts beans on toast?" Sören teased.  
  
"Where else are they supposed to go?" Anthony asked.  
  
"Uh... in a bowl on the side, maybe?"  
  
Anthony shrugged. "You come from a country where people eat sheep's head and rotten shark, so you're not exactly in a position to judge my food choices."  
  
Ordinarily Sören would have laughed at that, and agreed that several traditional Icelandic dishes were horrifying, but now he just thought of Trisha and Vincente's sentiments about Icelandic food at the art show and he bristled. Anthony noticed the tension and he kicked Sören under the table. "You OK?"  
  
"A couple of your friends said rude things about Icelandic food at the show."  
  
"Oh. Well, I'm sure they didn't mean it as rude. People are allowed to not like things, maybe you were just taking it personally -"  
  
Sören slammed his fork and knife down and gave Anthony a filthy look across the table. "People are allowed to not like things. As someone who has very strong opinions, very strong likes and dislikes, I usually agree on that. However, people can dislike things without being _dicks_ about it to the people who _do_ like those things, and they totally were, and no, I'm not just blowing their response out of proportion 'taking it personally'. They. Were. Rude. I don't know why you can't get it through your head that they don't like me -"  
  
"Sören, I asked you to please not put me in the middle." Anthony gave Sören a stern look and sipped his coffee. "Please. I can't have this conversation right now."  
  
There he was again with not wanting to be "put in the middle", which once again implied to Sören that he and Anthony's friends were on equal standing in Anthony's head, and that _infuriated_ him, especially when Anthony wasn't particularly close to his friends - they were people he went drinking with now and again, but they didn't have especially deep conversations, they weren't people he could call at three in the morning when he was stressed out. Sören felt insulted, and he was tempted to storm out of there and say _fuck Brighton, fuck this entire relationship,_ but before he could, his eyes met Anthony's and the hurt look on Anthony's face - the hurt in Anthony's eyes - made Sören pause and take a few deep breaths.  
  
Sören reached across the table for Anthony's hands and squeezed. "I'm sorry."  
  
"OK." Anthony squeezed Sören's hands back. "Now eat your toast before I put beans on it."  
  
It was overcast, and it started to rain as Anthony drove on the highway. But the rain wasn't going to deter them from their weekend - Brighton would be a nice change of pace for both of them, even if they were just at the beach house and didn't go out much in the rain. And there was something about the rain that was soothing to Sören, trying to dial back the tension of earlier.  
  
By the time they got to the beach house it was a downpour, and they made a mad dash for the house but were still soaked by the time they got in. A couple of minutes after they were safely inside, there was a big clap of thunder, enough to startle Sören and make him squeak. Anthony laughed.  
  
"You're so cute," Anthony said, and booped Sören's nose.  
  
Sören gave him a look of mock indignation.  
  
The rainstorm created a chill, enough to warrant turning on the gas fireplace in the bedroom. Sören and Anthony were both drenched enough that they began undressing right away, but instead of changing into fresh clothing they fell on each other - Sören didn't know who grabbed who first - and, kissing feverishly, they made their way to the bed.  
  
Sören climbed the bed, laying on his back, looking up at Anthony expectantly as Anthony climbed over Sören, a hungry look on his face that sent a shiver through Sören, cock jolting up to full erection, twinging with need. Sören wrapped his arms around Anthony and pulled him down, and they looked into each other's eyes for a moment before their mouths met, their tongues playing together, teasing. Hands slid over each other's bodies, exploring, soothing, loving.  
  
Anthony kissed and licked down Sören's neck, knowing exactly how to drive him crazy. Sören clutched at his head, moaning. Anthony kissed over Sören's throat, down his chest, and began to lap and suckle Sören's nipples, making Sören arch to him, writhing, panting, cock dripping with precum. Anthony went back and forth between Sören's nipples, laving, sucking hard, tugging the rings with his teeth, making Sören's nipples swell and throb and ache, making Sören whimper and gasp and start to beg. Anthony kissed and licked Sören's stomach, his thighs, and then Sören's cock was in his mouth, sucking hard and fast, like he was starving for it, and the heat in Anthony's eyes was just as arousing to Sören as the way Anthony's mouth pleasured his cock.  
  
Finally Anthony nibbled Sören's hip and growled, "I can't take it anymore." Anthony rose up, grabbed the lube they kept in the cabin's bedtable drawer, and Sören watched as Anthony poured lube over their cocks, taking them both in his hand, stroking them together. Sören moaned and Anthony gave a deeper groan, and Sören moaned again as he watched the precum flow between their cocks, cock dripping onto cock, making streamers. The velvet steel of Anthony's cock rubbing against his was almost enough to set Sören off right then. But then Anthony was straddling Sören's hips, opening to him, and Sören guided the tip of his cock to Anthony's channel. Anthony gasped as Sören began to enter him, and Sören's cock throbbed as he watched Anthony shudder, taking deep breaths as he took Sören inch by inch. "Oh god." Anthony made a guttural noise when Sören was buried in him to the hilt. "I need you so much," Anthony said, taking Sören's hands in his, kissing them, putting them on his heart, a tender gesture that brought tears to Sören's eyes. Once again he could feel that love between them, a love strong enough that it would find a way, somehow.  
  
Anthony started to ride, slowly. Sören groaned at the sight of his cock gliding in and out of him, at the sight of Anthony's perfect, trim body, the fluid grace as he worked his hips. Sören grabbed Anthony's hips and matched his rhythm, and Sören's cock jolted as Anthony moaned. Watching Anthony lose himself in their fuck, listening to him moan, made Sören mad with lust, and soon Sören couldn't control himself, pounding into him, giving Anthony a good ride, making him work for it. When Anthony started to stroke himself, it was all Sören could do to not come right then, holding back his orgasm and holding back and holding back until they were both on that edge, shaking, gasping, desperate for relief. Their eyes met, and Anthony let out a strangled sob as he spilled over Sören's body. Two thrusts later Sören's own climax rocked him, and Sören heard himself gasping, panting, as he trembled violently, pleasure surging and surging.  
  
Anthony settled down onto Sören's chest and Sören pulled him close. They kissed deeply, and then spent a few minutes looking into each other's eyes, petting. There were no words - there was no need for words. What Sören was feeling, in this moment, was beyond words. A feeling deeper than words, deeper than love, like they were as much a force of nature together as the raging thunder and pouring rain outside.  
  
Still inside Anthony, Sören rose in him again, and Anthony rolled onto his back, pulling Sören atop him. His arms and legs wrapped around Sören and he kissed Sören hard, rolling his hips slowly. Sören started to thrust again, and after a few minutes of slow, sensual thrusting Sören leaned up, put Anthony's legs on his shoulders, and fucked out all of the aggression that had been pent up the last couple of days, pounding Anthony into the mattress, the bed slamming against the wall. "Oh shit, oh god, oh _fuck_," Anthony cried out underneath him, grabbing onto Sören for dear life. Sören growled and rocked into him harder, balls slapping against him, all primal, savage need. Anthony's cries got as loud as the slap of their flesh, a harmony with Sören's growling, grunting, letting out the beast. Anthony took Sören's hands in his, and then Sören's hands were running over him, making Anthony quiver to his touch, and at last Anthony's cock was in Sören's hand, stroking fast and furious, in time with his thrusts.  
  
"Sören." Their eyes met. "Sören, I'm gonna -"  
  
"Come for me," Sören rasped.  
  
"Oh god, _Sören!_" Anthony let go, spending over Sören's chest and stomach.  
  
At the sight of his lover climaxing - the feel of hot seed raining over his flesh - Sören came too, making an inhuman noise as he spent himself. Anthony let out little shuddery gasps, shaking, and Sören sank down and kissed him hard, kissed him until they were both breathless, the orgasmic pulses seemingly endless.  
  
Sören lay on Anthony's chest, in his arms. Anthony rocked him, and they watched the rain out the window, the stormy sea. They still didn't speak. After awhile they were kissing again, and Sören had slipped out of Anthony, and now it was his turn. Anthony shoved Sören onto his back, and his slick fingers played inside Sören, knowing how to tease that magic spot inside him until Sören was clawing at his back, begging "Please, take me, fuck me..."  
  
When Anthony took him, he kissed Sören deeply, and then he repaid all of Sören's savagery, Sören's legs on his shoulders, fucking him hard, fucking away everything else in the universe but the two of them and their pleasure and their need for each other. As Anthony's cock rubbed away at that sweet, sensitive place inside him, Sören's nails raked Anthony's back and he heard himself whimpering, keening, at last panting out "harder, more, fuck me, I need this, I need it, I need you, more..."  
  
There was nothing sexier to Sören than the look on Anthony's face as Anthony had him, took him, claimed him, lips slightly parted, eyes narrowed and darkened with lust, looking at him like he was the only thing in the world. Anthony was getting closer, Sören could feel him tensing, could hear the little noises he made as he thrust, as their bodies slammed together, flesh damp from sweat now more than the rain. Sören revelled in it, on that edge himself, wanting to come but wanting to stay lost forever, worship Anthony with his eyes, his body. At last Anthony grabbed Sören's face, kissed him hard, and then he ground out, "Sören, come with me."  
  
They came together, breathing each other's breath with each panting gasp, moaning together, shaking. Sören felt Anthony spending and spending inside him, and Sören's own cock kept shooting, his contractions so intense they almost _hurt_, it was so good.  
  
The euphoria and the feeling of closeness between them broke something in Sören, weeping, feeling vulnerable, feeling like Anthony had touched the wounded place in him, had touched what hurt, and it was safe, and they were OK again... at least for now. Anthony kissed Sören's tears and Sören saw Anthony's own tears, silent.  
  
It was time for words now. "Thank you," Sören whispered.  
  
"Thank _you._" Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose, then his forehead, and then their lips met, softly, sweetly. "I needed that."  
  
"We both needed that." Sören stroked Anthony's face. "We need each other."  
  
"We do." Anthony gave a shuddery little sigh. "I need you so much it scares me."  
  
_I didn't get that impression at all on Thursday night, or whenever you tell me not to "put you in the middle" with your shitty friends._ But Sören didn't say it aloud - they had just cleansed the wound and Sören didn't want to rip it back open. He gave a tight smile and gave Anthony another kiss. "Then hang onto me, and don't let go."


	39. Man in the Box

Anthony leaned over and gave Sören a nose kiss. "How are you, love?"  
  
"Hrrrrnnnnn."  
  
"Hrrrrnnnnn?"  
  
"HRRRRRRRRNNNNN."  
  
"HRRRRRRRRNNNNN?"  
  
As bone-tired as he was, Sören managed a smile and reached out to pat Anthony's knee. He stole a long look at Anthony as he began backing out of the National parking lot and headed onto the highway, all serious business then relaxing once they got moving. Anthony looked over at him again and noticed Sören was watching him and bit his lower lip. Sören's stomach fluttered in response - even after close to two years, Anthony still made him feel like a teenager with a stupid crush, sometimes. Through all their ups and downs they still had it.  
  
Sören was hoping and praying they'd still have it when they weathered this latest storm.  
  
"So let me try this again," Anthony said, handing Sören an iced coffee that he'd gotten for him on the way to pick him up. "How did it go? Nothing catastrophic, I hope."  
  
"I didn't lose any patients, if that's what you mean."  
  
"Mostly," Anthony said, nodding - Sören knew that Anthony knew he was _still_ shaken from the death on his operating table in April. "But you seem..." Anthony made a vague hand gesture before he put his hand back on the steering wheel. "Perturbed in a way that you usually aren't even on a rough day, and I know it's extremely hot today but that doesn't seem like it, either."  
  
It was Monday, August fifth - they were right in the dog days of summer, it was a sweltering thirty-two degrees (90 Fahrenheit) outside, and even though Sören had been in air conditioning at the National all day, the few minutes walking to where Anthony was parked was like being in an oven and Sören was sweating. His break had been unpleasant too - Sören preferred to go out and get some fresh air on sunny days and he felt like he was going to wilt after just five minutes outside, never mind a full half-hour.  
  
But Anthony was right. Even accounting for Sören's misery in the heat, this was something different. Sören debated dropping the news on Anthony right there, but he was himself still in a state of shock and needed some time to decompress before he could have that conversation. "We had a staff meeting this morning," Sören said.  
  
"Oh. You usually have those on Wednesdays."  
  
Sören nodded. "We usually do."  
  
"So..."  
  
"I'll tell you when we get home, if you don't mind."  
  
Anthony gave him an apprehensive look, but he simply nodded and said, "OK."  
  
They were quiet the rest of the way home, which was usual for them, Anthony knowing Sören needed mental space after work, and Anthony had just come from Lincoln's Inn himself so he also appreciated the quiet time. When they got in, Sören washed his hands right away and then Anthony did, and they changed into pajamas. Sören sat on the couch while Anthony poured them each an iced coffee from the pitcher in the fridge, and after Anthony passed him the drink, Anthony took out a menu from the nearby Italian place they liked, the menu tucked neatly under the coffee table with some other menus, a couple of books and Sören's Wacom tablet. But before Sören could open the menu and decided what he wanted for dinner, Anthony leaned back and looked at him while he sipped his coffee, giving Sören that intense "go on, I'm waiting" look.  
  
"OK." Sören put the menu on top of the coffee table - it could wait while they had this discussion. "Here goes." Sören took a deep breath. "We found out this morning that one of the neurosurgeons died."  
  
Anthony's mouth opened slightly and his eyes widened. "Oh. God. Was it... was it anyone closer to you? I imagine it's not Colin or I would have heard about it from Diana -"  
  
"No, it's not Colin. It's someone I only work with occasionally, Pavit Singh. Massive heart attack." Sören sighed. Even though he didn't know Singh well, the man was always friendly with him when they did work together, and Sören felt sorry for the man's family, knowing he left behind a wife, two sons, and three daughters. "He was a good guy, as far as I could tell. And much too young - he was only in his early fifties. He wasn't in bad health, either, so I'm guessing early heart attacks must run in his family."  
  
Anthony nodded. "It's always sad when you hear about someone going young like that. It would be sad anyway, I think -"  
  
"Well, yeah, I'm not trying to imply it's not sad when older people go. Just..." Sören made a vague hand gesture. "You would have thought he'd have a couple more decades left. He was expecting a grandchild and now he'll never get to see them."  
  
Anthony frowned and patted Sören's knee, looking down, and Sören got the sense Anthony was thinking about his own parents and wondering how much time they had left - though Elaine and Roger both seemed fairly healthy, barring Roger's arthritis - and Anthony also seemed like he was thinking about his grandmother, Anthea, who was declining with dementia. Sören instinctively put his hand on top of Anthony's, rubbed, and squeezed.  
  
Then Sören went on. "This leaves us short one neurosurgeon."  
  
"Ah." Anthony nodded. Then it hit him. "Oh. Shit."  
  
Sören nodded vehemently. "Jæja. Shit is right. Neurosurgeons don't exactly grow on trees or fall out of the sky. He was working the same kind of hours as most of us, usually seventy-two hours a week on average - sometimes more than that, sometimes a lot more - so until we can get someone to replace him, we're all going to have to pick up the slack."  
  
"So that means you'll be getting more hours."  
  
Sören nodded some more. "Not just that I'll be getting more hours, but I'll be _getting more hours._ We already have a few neurosurgeons who can't take more hours because of family obligations, small children and all, and we have a few neurosurgeons who are stretched as far as they can go, working ninety-six hours a week, so that means Singh's hours have to be divided between the rest of us, and I'm in the 'rest of us' camp, especially as a junior surgeon, I get less say in my hours than someone with more seniority. I don't know how bad it's going to be just yet, only that it's going to be bad."  
  
"When do you find out how bad?"  
  
"Tomorrow. Ed's redoing my schedule now, so... anything you know about what's happening for the next ten days is null and void." Sören gave a bitter laugh as he sipped his iced coffee.  
  
Then Anthony's jaw just dropped as he let that sink in. "Wait, you said that some of your colleagues... they work ninety-six hours a week?"  
  
"Jæja."  
  
"Is that even _legal._"  
  
_Leave it to Anthony to ask if it's legal or not._ Sören shrugged. "I know there are labor laws but I also know the NHS can work around them by claiming necessity. It's like I said, neurosurgeons don't grow on trees so we can either flaunt labor laws or we can be short-staffed and more people can die."  
  
Anthony frowned. "That still feels grossly unfair. Like slave labor."  
  
"People dying of preventable deaths is also grossly unfair."  
  
"Right, I wasn't trying to say that it wasn't, but -" Their eyes met. "I worry about you."  
  
Sören could feel how loaded that statement was. There was an unspoken _I worry about us_ behind it. Since the explosion of the art show last month, things had been calm, but there was a lingering tension in the air. The only way to really get back to normal was to spend time together, and that was easier said than done when Sören's hours were already at odds with Anthony's work schedule before this latest.  
  
Sören took a deep breath. "Some people have jobs, some people have careers... surgeons are on a mission from God, or, for those of us who don't believe in God, we play God every day in the operating theatre. I told you when we first started dating in 2011 that I didn't have a life because of what I do - _this is my life_." Sören reached out his hands and gestured around. "This is what happens when you go into medicine."  
  
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Sören felt a little self-conscious, not wanting it to come off like Anthony wasn't a priority to him or somehow came second in his life. But Sören also couldn't apologize for what he'd said, either.  
  
Anthony simply nodded, and a moment of silence hung between them, as if he were searching for the right words in response. Then he answered with a question. "Have you worked really crazy hours before? I mean... crazier. Since your hours are already crazy."  
  
"I have," Sören said. "Not here, but back when I was working at the hospital in Reykjavik. We don't have so many specialists, being such a small country, so I got called in a lot on top of my regular shifts. There were stretches when I'd be pulling a hundred hours a week for weeks at a time."  
  
"And how was that?"  
  
Sören felt like he was in the courtroom now, and he almost yelled _Does your lawyer mode ever turn off_ but he also couldn't fault Anthony for having concerns. "Not fun. I'm not looking forward to a repeat."  
  
"Hopefully it won't be _that_ bad."  
  
"Hopefully not. But it might." Sören had the sense that it would, since there weren't a lot of spare neurosurgeons to pick up the slack for Singh's hours. "It just might." Sören gave a resigned half-shrug. "I survived it before. And I didn't have you to take care of me." Sören smiled at Anthony, and reached out to stroke his cheek. Anthony smiled back.  
  
Anthony took Sören's hand and kissed it, and squeezed it in his, close to his heart. "Yes. You have me now. We look out for each other."  
  
"We do."  
  
"And we'll get through this." Anthony put his coffee down and put his arms around Sören, pulling Sören into his chest. He rubbed his nose in Sören's curls, kissed the top of his head. "We're in this together."  
  
Sören sighed, wishing he could stop time for a little while and just rest there, safe in his lover's arms. "I love you, Corn."  
  
Anthony chuckled softly at the use of the old nickname. "I love you too, IKEA."  
  
  
_  
  
  
  
The next day Sören was off work by nine PM, and Anthony came out to get him rather than making him take the Tube home, even though Sören could see that Anthony, too, was tired as he got in the car.  
  
"How was work?" Anthony asked, leaning in for a quick kiss.  
  
Sören made a noise and then he replied simply with a "Hrrrrnnnnn."  
  
Anthony chuckled. "Hrrrrnnnnn."  
  
"_Hrrrrnnnnn._"  
  
"Hrrrrnnnnn?"  
  
"Hrrrrnnnnn hrrrrnnnnn."  
  
They laughed together, and Sören breathed a soft sigh and rested his head on Anthony's shoulder, zoning out to Jamiroquai playing on the car stereo. It was still uncomfortably muggy out tonight and Sören was grateful for the air conditioned vehicle after the sweaty walk to the car. When they reached their place in Kingston, both Sören and Anthony made faces as they got out of the car and made their way upstairs - the stairwell was sweltering and Sören felt ready to drop once they got to the second floor.  
  
Sören washed his hands and marched immediately to the shower. A cool shower felt refreshing, though Sören was still exhausted enough to go to bed sooner rather than later. Anthony had sandwiches waiting for him when he got out and sat with him. After a few minutes Anthony prompted, "So?"  
  
"So..."  
  
"What does your new schedule look like?"  
  
"Right, that." Sören opened his satchel on the coffee table, took out his little notebook, and handed it to Anthony. Munching on a sandwich, he watched Anthony gawping at the schedule.  
  
When Anthony had read Sören's schedule for the next two weeks, he handed it back to Sören, looking a little shell-shocked. It was one thing to be warned yesterday that Sören's hours were going to go up, it was another thing to see it written in the planner.  
  
"So you're getting a hundred hours a week over the next two weeks," Anthony said.  
  
Sören nodded slowly. "I did warn you it could be that bad."  
  
"Right, I was thinking maybe you'd get closer to eighty-four, dividing the hours with the other surgeons, but..."  
  
Sören laughed bitterly. "I'm a junior surgeon and I don't have children." Then, feeling the need to grasp at levity somehow, he added, "Even if your gran wants us to have some."  
  
Anthony buried his face in his hands, shaking with silent laughter, and when he pulled his hands away his cheeks were pink, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He did an imitation of his grandmother's voice as he called out, "CORNELIUS, WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO PUT A BABY IN HIM?"  
  
They laughed together, but it didn't last long, Anthony quickly sobering as he steepled his hands and rested his chin on his fingertips, taking a few deep breaths as he narrowed his eyes and tapped his fingers together. Sören could practically see the gears in Anthony's head turning, and knew from having seen that body language before that it was Anthony's strategist pose; Sören got the sense Anthony took that pose often in his chambers.  
  
Then Anthony straightened up, gave a dramatic little cough, and said, "Right. So I just did the mental math. One hundred hours spread out over six days a week is sixteen hours a day, or in the case of seven days a week where you only get a full day off every ten days, fourteen hours a day. But your schedule currently has you at six days of sixteen hours each."  
  
"Correct."  
  
"That leaves you with exactly eight hours left in the day. When I take you to and from work, the commute is roughly a half-hour to forty-five minutes depending on traffic. If you take the Tube, the commute is roughly a half-hour to an hour depending on train availability. So let's go for a rough estimate of ninety minutes to two hours a day commute, which leaves you with six hours for eating, sleeping, and... well, not much else." Anthony made a face.  
  
Sören nodded. "When I was pulling the hundred-hour workweeks in Reykjavik, I got roughly six hours of sleep a night. That was provided I could actually sleep through the entire night. You never appreciate how much your body needs eight hours until you're surviving on six or four."  
  
"_Jesus._" Anthony leaned back against the couch, his mouth slightly open, eyes wide, looking to be in shock.  
  
Finally their eyes met and Anthony said, "Do you know how long this -"  
  
Sören shook his head, and shrugged. "Till they get a replacement. I assume that if I have to work this schedule for longer than a couple weeks they'll have to _by law_ give me a weekend off here and there, so at least there's that."  
  
"OK." Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose, and Sören knew it was sinking in. Sören also knew there was a difference between the information sinking in and then actually living it. The new normal started tomorrow.  
  
For a brief instant, Sören thought about asking Anthony if he was going to really, truly be OK with this - he worried about Anthony getting his needs met, since they had managed to make time around their schedules for sex, and now that was going to be far less workable than before. But before he could open his mouth and express concerns, Anthony hugged him tight. "We'll get through this, Sören." Anthony started to rock him. "You're a fighter. And I'm standing right there beside you."  
  
They made slow, sensual love that night, stroking and holding each other's faces, looking deeply into each other's eyes, trying to make it last, make it count. Sören felt like he was burning every touch, every kiss, every moan, every sigh, every breath, into his memory, to drink deep for the coming drought.  
  
And after sex, Anthony fell asleep first, and for a little while Sören just watched him sleep, studied him, so he could hold onto that, too. The memory of Anthony perfectly at peace, looking sweet and innocent, a moment when Sören loved him just for existing, the gift of his presence in Sören's life.  
  
_  
  
  
_Day 1 - Wednesday_  
  
Sören had worked sixteen-hour days before. He had worked eighteen-hour days before, when surgery ran overtime. Something about today seemed so much worse; Sören felt ready to die when Anthony took him home.  
  
Anthony had food ready for him when they got up to the flat, and as Sören flopped down on the couch and ate, Anthony propped one of Sören's legs up on his lap and began to give him a foot rub. Anthony's touch was so good Sören wanted to _cry_, feeling the tension melt out of him. After Sören was finished eating, Anthony pulled him close and just rubbed Sören's scalp for awhile, continuing to soothe him, pamper him.  
  
Sören felt like he needed to put in some kind of effort so he asked Anthony about work, and listened while Anthony discussed his latest case. Then Anthony gave a nervous laugh and said, "I don't want to get you wound up when you're trying to relax before bed. Do you want to watch a movie or something?"  
  
Sören nodded. "That might help me shut my mind off."  
  
Anthony and Sören looked through the DVDs; earlier that year they had gotten some DVDs of films that came out last year, and now Anthony picked out _The Dark Knight Rises_ in the Batman franchise. "Mmmm, Christian Bale," Sören said, and immediately regretted having no brain-to-mouth filter when he was tired, at the annoyed look Anthony shot him. Then Sören nudged him and said, "Well as you can see, I go for a certain type. Tall, dark, English..."  
  
Anthony's lips quirked and Sören knew that was a good save. Shaking his head and chuckling, Anthony put the DVD in, and he and Sören cuddled together on the couch, Anthony spooning him from behind, arms around him.  
  
Sören was tired enough that when the opening credits began, he had a random silly moment, laughing to himself as his mind went back and forth between English and his native language.  
  
"What's so funny?" Anthony asked.  
  
Sören leaned back against him and looked up. "You know what we call Batman in Iceland?"  
  
"What, Batturmann or something?"  
  
Sören snorted. He shook his head. "No, silly. We call him Leðurblökumaðurinn."  
  
It took a moment - Sören looked over his shoulder and watched Anthony reacting, his mouth opening, looking absolutely dumbfounded. Then Anthony said, "You're taking the piss."  
  
"I am not. That's exactly what we call him. Leðurblökumaðurinn."  
  
"What the bloody hell is wrong with your language."  
  
Sören threw his head back and laughed, amused rather than offended. "I don't fucking know, in that particular case."  
  
"That's just... that's just wrong." Anthony laughed too. "Le-Leðurblö- what?"  
  
"Leðurblökumaðurinn."  
  
Anthony laughed harder. "Have you ever seen the old American TV show from the 60s?"  
  
"The one where when someone gets punched or kicked or whatever the words POW and BAM and THWACK show up on the screen?"  
  
Anthony nodded. "That's the one."  
  
"I've seen a few episodes. Dag loves that shit."  
  
"How did your brother get into that?"  
  
"Oh, one of his professor colleague... friend... people." Sören felt like more of his brain cells were dying with each moment he was awake. "Proust or something."  
  
"And you've watched it with Dag, so... you know the theme song, right?"  
  
Sören and Anthony started singing in unison, "Na na na na, na na na na, na na na na, na na na na..." and then Anthony sang "Leðurblö-ku-duh-durr-bluh-blahdeblah-ppffft" and Sören lost it, doubling over, tearing up, wheezing.  
  
"I love you," Sören choked out through his hysterical laughter.  
  
"I love you too, IKEA." Anthony skritched Sören's curls and then his beard, and Sören snuggled into him with a big smile.  
  
The good laugh and feeling close to Anthony put Sören to sleep a short while later. He was aware of Anthony carrying him and tucking him in bed, and gave a sleepy smile as he felt Anthony kiss his brow before rolling against him, spooning him once more. "Sleep well, love," Anthony whispered.  
  
_  
  
  
_Day 2 - Thursday_  
  
Anthony was already at work when the alarm clock went off. Sören groaned as he slammed it, and buried his face in the pillows, making noises. He did not want to get up - he hadn't gotten enough sleep last night, much as he'd done little other than eat, dozing off soon after the movie started. Sören knew this was just the beginning of running on fumes.  
  
He sat up, forcing himself awake, even as his brain took awhile to catch up to his body even with a good night's rest, even with coffee. He didn't have a lot of time before he had to leave.  
  
Before he could get off the bed to visit the bathroom, he saw a note from Anthony on the bedtable by the clock.  
  
_I love you, Brown Eyes. I'm still laughing at Lederhosenblarglefjördbörksmerg this morning. Thank you for being the sunshine of my life._  
  
Sören giggled at Anthony's mangling of the Icelandic name for Batman, and then he pressed the note to his nose, breathing in the touch of Anthony's cologne, letting out a little sigh. Moments like this made him feel incredibly loved, and he was grateful for it. Sören tucked the note away in his keepsake box with Anthony's other handwritten notes, and felt himself smiling as he got ready for work.  
  
He needed the smiles, as he had a rather depressing pediatric consult when he got into work - seeing kids face life-threatening conditions was always difficult for him - and then he had a pre-surgery consult that was also upsetting, as it was with a young man who had gotten married recently, and he and his wife couldn't stop crying. It made Sören get choked up too, seeing how much they loved each other and wanted to have a long, happy life together, and Sören thought of Anthony and hoped they would never have to face something like what this couple was facing. _Our lives are hard enough._  
  
Sören had two surgeries scheduled that day - one was a biopsy, and the other was a craniotomy to remove a tumor. His break fell between the two procedures, and he typically shut off his cell phone to not be disturbed while he was operating. After he scrubbed out of his first surgery, he turned his cell phone back on and saw he'd gotten a text from Anthony.  
  
_Want some company on your break?_  
  
It hadn't been that long since Anthony texted; Sören looked at the clock and saw Anthony would be leaving Lincoln's Inn soon, which meant he could stop at the National on his way home. _Please,_ Sören replied with a heart emoji at the end.  
  
Sören took time to visit the bathroom and stretch a little, and Anthony was already in the cafe when he arrived, with two big cups of iced coffee. Sören felt that flush in his cheeks and flutter in his stomach looking across the room at him - Anthony looked so dapper in his navy pinstripe suit and light blue shirt, and Sören still thought he had the most beautiful green eyes, like emeralds, long-lashed and expressive. Anthony rose from the table as soon as he saw Sören walk in, and held out his arms. Sören made a beeline for him, and Anthony scooped him into his arms and held him tight. They just held each other for a few minutes, rocking each other, and Sören snuggled into Anthony's chest - the shield wall of him made everything OK again.  
  
"I love you, IKEA," Anthony said, rubbing his nose in Sören's curls.  
  
Sören looked up and met his eyes. "I love you too."  
  
Then Anthony took Sören's face in his hands and kissed him deeply, not caring who else was watching them. Sören moaned into the kiss and then sighed, wishing they had more time.  
  
It was late when Sören got home, and he rummaged around in the fridge to get something to eat. Briefly, he wished Anthony would have cooked him something. Sören ate alone on the couch, since Anthony was already in bed, and when he finished eating he showered alone and climbed into bed beside Anthony, trying hard to be quiet and careful and not disturb his sleeping mate.  
  
But then Anthony rolled towards him and after Sören closed his eyes, Sören felt Anthony tuck something into his arms - Tony the stuffed tiger. Sören couldn't help giggling and he kissed Anthony's cheek. Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose and tousled his curls.  
  
"I miss you," Anthony mumbled, and then he went back to sleep before Sören could respond.  
  
  
_  
  
  
_Day 3 - Friday _  
  
Sören got up for work just as Anthony was leaving; Anthony came in when he heard the alarm go off the second time, and peppered Sören's face with kisses until Sören sat up, giggling. Anthony thrust a mug of coffee in his hands, and skritched Sören's head like a cat.  
  
"Hi," Anthony said. "I have to go."  
  
Sören frowned. Anthony frowned too.  
  
Sören took a moment to ogle him, wearing a charcoal grey suit with a waistcoat, a white shirt, and of course, the tie Sören gave him. Sören watched as he put on his Rolex as the finishing touch, and Sören felt himself crinkling his nose, biting his lower lip. "You look handsome."  
  
Anthony blushed. "Thanks. You look adorable. I wish we could stay in bed all day."  
  
Sören laughed, nodding. "I do too." Sören gave a little growl. "I miss my sexy husband."  
  
The word slipped out of him without thinking about it, and Anthony's face lit up in a big grin, making him even sexier to Sören. They weren't married yet, but they _felt_ like it, the word came so naturally to him. Anthony's eyes twinkled. "I love it when you call me that. And... I miss my sexy husband, too."  
  
Sören did not want his cock waking up right now, so he grasped at levity. "You know I'm really aching for you when I think you'd even look hot wearing George."  
  
Anthony buried his face in his hands, shaking with laughter, and when he pulled his hands away from his face he was beetroot, his grin even bigger. "Sören, you're terrible."  
  
"_Takk._"  
  
"And George is innocent. He doesn't need to be exposed to our depravity." Then Anthony raised his middle finger, went to the closet, and came back with George in his hands. "Here, he can keep you company today at work."  
  
Sören giggled.  
  
Anthony lifted up George and gave the wig a stern look. "You take good care of him, OK?" Anthony made the wig nod, before he tossed it at Sören, who caught it.  
  
Sören brought the wig with him to work, and on his break he took George to Queen's Square and snapped photos of the wig in different poses - "sniffing" the flowers, sitting on the steps of St. George's Cathedral, playing peekaboo behind a bush - to send to Anthony in text.  
  
As he was coming back inside and about to scrub in, he saw one of his fellow surgeons, Elise Hansen, showing pictures on her cell phone to Colin and a couple of the nurses. Sören wandered over and saw it was pictures of Elise's two children, who were both under six years old. Sören would ordinarily be more enthusiastic and squee along with the others at the cute kids, Sören loved kids, but today he just felt a sting of bitterness, knowing Elise's children were why she wasn't working the same hours he was. And Sören hated himself for feeling that way, feeling like he was being unfair - kids did need their parents around, after all. But three days into this new schedule, Sören was already feeling rundown enough that it felt like the universe was mocking him, rubbing it in that he was going to have no life for awhile.  
  
Sören found himself continuing to stew when Anthony picked him up at the hospital and drove him home, though Sören tried to keep his irritation contained, not wanting Anthony to think the irritation was with him - he was trying very hard to keep things on an even keel after the art show.  
  
And then Sören did feel irritation with Anthony when they got home and Anthony produced a menu for them to look over, for the Thai place they liked. Sören also felt irritated with himself, felt like he was being a selfish asshole - he normally enjoyed Thai food, and he knew how lucky they were to be able to afford takeaway regularly, when there were many right in their own country going hungry. Anthony wasn't asking him to cook. But it was going to take time for the food to be delivered, when Sören had limited free time each day as it was - the time he spent waiting for delivery was the time that cut into his sleep schedule - and Sören wished Anthony would have ordered the food before he'd gotten home and let Sören heat up the leftovers. Sören also wished Anthony would cook sometimes, instead of them relying so much on takeaway. He knew Anthony's cooking skills were very basic, but even something simple that was homemade would be a welcome change now and again.  
  
Anthony saw the disgruntled look on Sören's face and pursed his lips. "Is everything OK?"  
  
"Yeah, it's just..." Sören made a vague hand gesture, and as much as he didn't want Anthony to feel attacked, he felt it was better to be honest. "This is going to take time, and I don't have that in large supply right now."  
  
"Oh god, I'm sorry." Anthony's face fell. "I should have realized, and ordered something before you got here..."  
  
"You could also, you know..." Sören swallowed hard. "Cook. Once in awhile."  
  
Anthony gave a nervous laugh. "My skills are very rudimentary compared to yours, my dear. You'd get bored quickly."  
  
Sören shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Basic would still be preferable to losing an hour of sleep as I wait for food to come."  
  
Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose, looking pained, and he exhaled sharply. "I'm sorry -"  
  
Sören knew he was beating himself up, and Sören felt bad for saying anything at all, but at the same time he felt like it was better going forward that Anthony knew this rather than trying to sweep everything under the rug. Sören gave him a squeeze. "It's OK, _elskan_. This all got thrust upon us so suddenly and we're still, you know, figuring things out. It's a learning curve. Now you know."  
  
Anthony nodded, and he patted Sören.  
  
After Anthony placed their order, they curled up on the couch together; Anthony watched the BBC News. Usually they'd watch the news together and exchange some commentary about things going on in the world, but Sören was struggling to concentrate, and he found his mind continuing to go back to how irritated he was for feeling bitter that Elise Hansen had fewer hours because of her children. The thoughts continued to spin and spin, and Sören needed a distraction that the news wasn't providing with all of its doom; Sören reached under the coffee table and pulled out his tablet. He began to draw.  
  
"What do you think about what's happening with Snowden?" Anthony asked.  
  
"Mmm." Sören shrugged.  
  
"Hmm."  
  
Sören glanced over at him and saw his brow furrowed. Sören glanced back at his tablet. "I'm really tired, sorry."  
  
"No, I know." Anthony rubbed his shoulder. "Sorry, I should give you your space." Anthony let out a little sigh. "It's just been on my mind a lot, since, you know... as a barrister the legality of everything is really interesting, but it's not the sort of thing I can discuss with my friends."  
  
_That's because your friends aren't really friends. They're not people you can hold meaningful conversations with._ And then Sören felt a stab of guilt. _At the moment neither am I, because I'm too fucking tired. Shit._ Sören put down his tablet for a moment and said, "I have really mixed feelings about the entire thing which I can't quite articulate right now, like I said, I'm tired. But it's definitely disturbing how much the US government spies on its own people." Then Sören picked up his tablet and resumed sketching.  
  
Anthony decided to change the subject for whatever reason, and Sören felt him staring and then noticed Anthony was looking over his shoulder. "What are you drawing?" Anthony asked.  
  
Sören didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed, but then his mind's eye played a vision of the silver-gold brother when he was very young, hyper and exuberant, following him around, wanting to hang out in the forge. _"What are you making? Let me see, let me see."_  
  
Sören got uncomfortable showing works in progress, but he handed the tablet to Anthony. It was a portrait of other-Sören - or at least that was how it was beginning. He was looking down...  
  
_...looking defeated._  
  
"Oh, love." Anthony kissed Sören's cheek. "I'm sorry it's so hard right now."  
  
"That's what he said."  
  
Anthony facepalmed, and Sören realized that his knee-jerk coping mechanism of humor had struck again. Sören bit his lip, shaking with laughter. "I'm sorry. My brain-to-mouth filter..."  
  
"No, you're good." Anthony grinned, his cheeks pink.  
  
"That's also what he said."  
  
Anthony howled, doubling over. "Goddammit Sören..."  
  
Later when they went to bed, they held each other, and after a few minutes of the close physical proximity and feeling cozy and safe with each other, Sören felt something hard press against his thigh. Sören sighed, wishing he weren't so tired, and that his time was so limited - he had just enough time to get barely enough sleep to be functional. _It's a miracle Elise even had time to make babies, if she ever worked this kind of shift years ago._  
  
Anthony shifted a little, realizing Sören felt it. "I'm sorry. I know you're too tired -"  
  
Sören felt a stab of guilt. He really _wanted_ to make love with Anthony - he'd be enthusiastically, wildly going for it if he had more time and wasn't so run into the ground. And he didn't want Anthony to feel neglected and frustrated. He knew Anthony could take care of himself, or at worst take a cold shower and try to think unappealing thoughts, but that didn't seem fair, somehow.  
  
"Shhh." Sören reached a hand down Anthony's pajama bottoms and pulled out his cock, resting his head in the crook between Anthony's neck and shoulder, kissing it as he felt Anthony's cock jolt in his hand. "I can take care of you."  
  
Sören stroked Anthony's cock, thumb rubbing the sensitive frenulum, kissing and licking his neck and shoulder, internally grieving that his body was too exhausted to respond to Anthony breathing harder, moaning, what would normally get Sören going, driving him out of his mind with lust. When he felt Anthony tremble and spill over his hand, giving that little shuddery sigh that Sören loved to hear, Sören felt a flood of relief. He brought his fingers to his lips to taste Anthony, and groaned, wishing he could do more.  
  
"Thank you," Anthony said, and gave Sören a soft, sweet kiss, tasting himself on Sören.  
  
"I love you," Sören whispered, stroking his face. "Please know that."  
  
"I do." Anthony took Sören's hand in his, squeezed it, and put it to his heart. "We'll get through this."  
  
  
_  
  
  
_Day 4 - Saturday_  
  
This time Anthony woke Sören up with kisses before the alarm went off, and Sören grinned and giggled.  
  
Anthony was still in his pajamas, even though it was well past the time he'd normally be up, and Sören could tell from his glasses that he was working on a Saturday, probably reviewing a case. Sören sighed a little - he always thought Anthony looked delicious in his glasses, and he wished he could spend the day in bed with Anthony, making love.  
  
Anthony threw on a T-shirt and jeans to drive Sören to work, and with Anthony wearing sunglasses, the windows down and the wind blowing as they rode under the blue sky, Jamiroquai blasting, Sören could almost pretend they were on a scenic drive.  
  
Sören ached for Anthony even more than usual while he was on his shift, thinking about him between patients and procedures. Before his evening break Sören bumped into Elise Hansen, who was kind and apologetic, and Sören once again felt annoyed with himself for being annoyed by her getting out of "hell" by virtue of her children.  
  
Anthony had ordered fish and chips for both of them, which made Sören happy, digging right in. But not even one of his favorite things or the presence of Anthony could completely take away Sören's angst - he knew he was getting more irritable as the days wore on, and he didn't like it.  
  
Anthony could tell something was wrong. "What is it, love?"  
  
Sören exhaled sharply. "You're gonna think I'm an asshole."  
  
"Probably not," Anthony said, meeting his eyes.  
  
Sören looked around the cafe to make sure none of his colleagues were within earshot. Then he said, "Oh, it's just. One of my colleagues has kids so she was spared more hours and I feel annoyed every time I see her now even though she's a _very nice person_ and I never had a problem with her before any of this started. I feel like a piece of shit."  
  
"Oh, honey." Anthony chuckled and reached across the table and patted his arm. "I don't think you're being an arsehole. I think you're just... overworked and tired. It's understandable."  
  
Sören munched a french fry, frowning. "I guess." Then Sören grasped for levity, not wanting to bother Anthony with his bad mood. "Maybe you should make your gran happy and put a baby in me so I can have an excuse to work less."  
  
Sören had chosen the moment to say that right as Anthony was sipping on iced coffee and Anthony almost spat.  
  
"Oh my _god_, Sören." Anthony turned beetroot, doubling over, eyes sparkling and crinkled at the corners, his face lighting up with his laughter. It took Sören's breath away and he felt a frisson of arousal, the sudden urge to take Anthony on the table right there, not caring who else was around. But he behaved himself.  
  
_God, I need a good fuck. Maybe that'll help me be less angry over stupid shit like poor Elise._  
  
"This is a terrible idea and not a serious suggestion at all, but... maybe you could invent a child," Anthony said. "Say we adopted... I don't know, a child from a Third World country, or something, like one of those celebrities."  
  
Now it was Sören's turn to almost choke on his food. He made a "phone call" gesture as his other hand reached for a fry. "Jæja, sorry Ed, I need fewer hours, my son needs me."  
  
"What would we even name our son?"  
  
Sören felt the wicked grin on his face. "Leðurblökumaðurinn."  
  
Anthony facepalmed and shook with laughter. "I walked into that, didn't I."  
  
Sören nodded, grinning harder as he made an addendum. "Leðurblökumaðurinn Hewlett-Johnson."  
  
They were both in hysterics, enough so that people around the cafe were starting to stare at them, which just made them laugh harder.  
  
"They think we're a bit barmy," Anthony said.  
  
"Well, we are."  
  
Anthony threw his head back, laughing. "Speak for yourself."  
  
"Here, I'll give them something to really talk about." Sören put a french fry up each nostril and looked around the cafe with a mad grin on his face.  
  
Anthony lost it, laughing until he cried.  
  
"I am completely of sound mind to operate on people," Sören announced, loud enough for other people to hear him. "Yes, indeed."  
  
Sören took the chips out of his nose and put them in a napkin before he took his next bite of food, as Anthony shook his head. "You go from being the sexiest thing in existence to being the most ridiculous thing in existence," Anthony said, "and you're at your sexiest _when_ you're being ridiculous. It isn't fair."  
  
"Oh, do we have a chips-in-nose fetish, now?"  
  
Anthony threw a french fry at him; Sören caught it and ate it.  
  
They calmed down enough to eat some more, and after a few minutes Anthony said, "I'm not keen on the idea of having children -"  
  
"I know."  
  
"If we had met when I was a little younger, I might have been more amenable to adopting someday, but I mean... if we adopted a baby, I'd be forty-three when they were ten. My parents had me when they were thirty and when they hit forty they were a little worn out by having a ten-year-old boy. They never took it out on me, but." Anthony's voice trailed off. "Doesn't seem fair."  
  
"No, I wasn't trying to pressure you into having kids. I mean, as it is, I wouldn't feel right about it with both of us working so much."  
  
"A cat, though." Their eyes met. "I've been thinking that when your schedule goes back to normal, maybe we _should_ get a cat, or two cats, to keep each other company while we're at work. We work a lot, but we still spend enough time at home that we could take care of cats and spend time with them."  
  
Sören nodded. He loved cats at least as much as he loved kids, and he felt a little wistful ache. "A cat would be nice. Or two cats."  
  
Anthony nodded. "I'd also like to adopt from a shelter. My mum likes purebred cats but there are so many mixed breeds that need homes."  
  
"I agree. I like all cats, doesn't have to be purebred."  
  
"Doesn't have to be a kitten, either. Adult cats are fine. Though... I do like kittens."  
  
The thought of Anthony with a baby kitten was so adorable to Sören he tried not to squeak... and that also made Anthony even sexier to him. _Goddammit, I want him._  
  
When it was time for Sören to return to work, Anthony and Sören clung to each other.  
  
"Ugh, I don't want to go back," Sören grumbled. "I wish I could stay here in your arms forever."  
  
"Me too," Anthony husked. He kissed the top of Sören's head, rubbed his nose in Sören's curls. "But you have to." He picked Sören's chin up with his fingers and looked into his eyes. "Be strong."  
  
"I'll try."  
  
"This won't last forever."  
  
"Well, we don't know when there'll be an end in sight, either."  
  
"No, but there will be one, eventually. I can't see the NHS not taking on a new neurosurgeon before year's end. And then..." Anthony began kneading Sören and purring like a cat.  
  
Sören giggled.  
  
"You should think of cat names," Anthony said. "Thinking about good things to come in the future might help."  
  
"I've already got a name picked out." Sören grinned. "Leðurblökumaðurinn."  
  
Anthony swatted his ass right there in the cafe. "You're terrible."  
  
"_Takk._"  
  
"And I love you," Anthony whispered in Sören's ear, before giving him a kiss where Sören's ear and jaw met, knowing that was a deliciously sensitive place.  
  
Sören got off work at one AM, and he had told Anthony not to stay up to pick him up - it was bad enough that Sören was getting less sleep because of his schedule, he didn't want to inflict it on Anthony too. The Tube ride home was quiet and it gave Sören time to think, and he kept thinking about the laughter with Anthony earlier, how much he _liked_ Anthony's company, how Anthony's visits when he was on break were the highlight of his day. He thought about how sexy Anthony looked in his glasses waking him up, and that sexy little kiss on one of his most erogenous places before he left.  
  
Sören had eaten dinner with Anthony but he could use a snack, so he went in the fruit bowl after he'd washed his hands, and got a banana. Eating a banana made him think about sucking Anthony's cock, and the way Anthony had sucked him off more times than he could count - Sören remembered the time, early into their relationship, when they got hot and heavy in a supply closet at the National, with Anthony getting down on his knees right there and sucking him to climax.  
  
Sören crawled into bed behind Anthony, and the feel of Anthony's body against his made his half-hard cock stiffen to full erection. Anthony stirred as he felt it. "Mmmf."  
  
Sören began to rub against Anthony's ass, wrapping his arms around Anthony's waist. Anthony was shirtless in the August heat, though the central air was on, and Sören's hand slid up, fingers brushing a nipple. "Hey," Sören rasped, kissing Anthony's neck. "You want?"  
  
"_Yes._"  
  
Anthony tilted his face and Sören kissed him deeply as Anthony reached for the lube on the bedtable. Sören almost came just from the touch of his own hand as he readied himself. He wrapped his arms around Anthony again as they lay there on their sides and he pushed in, and once he was all the way in the tight, hot passage Sören almost came again. Sören took a few deep breaths and began to kiss the back of Anthony's neck.  
  
Sören kept his thrusts slow at first, not wanting to come too soon. But Anthony's moans got the better of him and Sören's arms locked around him tight as he thrust harder, faster.  
  
"God, I fucking want you," Sören growled into his neck.  
  
"Oh, god, Sören." Anthony quivered and let out another moan. "I need you."  
  
"Fuck." Sören's teeth grazed his neck.  
  
Anthony started rocking his hips back at Sören, getting into it, moans getting louder. When Sören felt himself getting closer to that edge, knowing he couldn't hold back much longer, he reached down to stroke Anthony's cock, began licking Anthony's neck. "Need you to come for me," Sören whispered.  
  
A few thrusts later and Anthony did just that, crying out "_Sören!_" as he exploded, seed flooding over Sören's hand.  
  
Sören gave a wordless, hoarse shout as he spilled inside his lover, and Anthony tilted his face again to kiss him, both of them moaning into the kiss, drinking each other's cries as they trembled together, throbbing with sweet release.  
  
"Thank you," Anthony husked when it was over, and Sören slipped out of him.  
  
"Thank _you._" Sören chuckled. "Just what the doctor ordered."  
  
"You have the most amazing cock. It's a fucking lethal weapon. That ring..." Anthony shuddered.  
  
"I'm so glad you like my PA. I was a little worried our first time that you wouldn't."  
  
"No, Sören, it's amazing. It's not just sexy as hell but it feels incredible." Anthony gave a sleepy, throaty laugh. "I should get you a diamond."  
  
Sören giggled. "So if my Prince Albert gets a diamond, and it's a lethal weapon, it should have a name." Sören couldn't resist. "Leðurblökumaðurinn."  
  
Anthony rolled into the pillows, shaking with hysterical laughter. "Sören, I swear to god."  
  
Sören gave a happy little sigh. As exhausted as he was, and as worried as he was about how long this awful schedule would keep up, it was a moment he would always cherish. A moment that gave him hope. _Maybe, just maybe, we'll get through this and we'll be all right._


	40. Pretty Hate Machine

It was Tuesday, August twenty-seventh. It was now day twenty of Sören's new work schedule - he'd had Sunday the twenty-fourth off, and before that Thursday the fifteenth, but he'd spent most of his time off sleeping.  
  
Six hours a night at the most was the new normal, and it was taking its toll on Sören, who was on his feet all day, and had to use his mind and concentrate when he was working. He was not happy, and there was no end in sight - the schedule posted on the twenty-first was more of the same for the next fortnight. Sören had heard nothing about a new neurosurgeon to fill the gap Pavit Singh left with his death.  
  
Sören had been working since Monday night, and Anthony was still in chambers when Sören had his break at eleven AM. Even though it was still muggy outside, Sören needed some fresh air and made the short walk to Queen's Square. He climbed the steps of St. George's Cathedral and just sat there, throbbing head in his hands.  
  
Anthony's words from earlier that month rang in his head. _Thinking about good things to come in the future might help._ Sören desperately needed something to keep him from having a meltdown, breaking down and crying from sheer exhaustion and the loneliness of seeing his partner so little - they hadn't even made love since the night of the tenth, after having such a frequent sex life, and Sören was feeling touch-starved. He imagined it was that much worse for Anthony and he ached, wishing there was something, anything he could do.  
  
Once, Sören had such a strong sense of purpose. A sense of _destiny._ Now he felt utterly powerless, helpless, like he was being tossed around by the winds of change, the tides of fate, and there was nothing that could be done.  
  
Sören took a few deep breaths, closed his eyes, and thought of a time when the NHS would have a new neurosurgeon to replace Singh and he'd be back to seventy-two hours instead of a hundred every week. He thought of spending time with Anthony, cuddling, making love. Going on a picnic with Anthony to Canbury Gardens, just the two of them, feeding each other like lovers. Going to Brighton. Adopting two cats, watching Anthony be tender and loving with the cats, petting them, playing with them, that lovely radiant smile on his face as a cat brought him a toy mouse while he was at his desk working.  
  
It was a beautiful fantasy, and Sören's "happy place" relaxed him. His mind drifted and drifted...  
  
...a loud croak snapped him back to reality. Sören blinked his eyes open and realized he'd fallen asleep. A large raven was strutting around in front of the steps, and when Sören looked at it, the raven cocked its head to one side before it flew off, joined by a mate in the sky.  
  
Sören felt a flood of panic, wondering how long he'd been asleep. He took out his cell phone and saw he'd been "gone" for only five minutes or so, but that still bothered him, a lot. He'd fallen asleep right here, outside, in public - even though Queen's Square was quiet and it was broad daylight, it still wasn't safe to be sleeping like this here.  
  
_At least when I'm performing surgery, it's a different state of consciousness. I shouldn't be in danger there. I'll just... make a note of this and be mindful of what I'm doing._  
  
Sören had a big cup of coffee in the break room just to be on the safe side, as nasty as the break room coffee tended to be, bitter and burnt no matter how much sugar and cream you put in it. His next act of the day wasn't a surgery, but a pre-surgery consult, including ordering more tests, and he was aware of how tired his voice sounded, the fatigue hitting him even harder after the patient was gone and he sat down to review the CAT scan results and the patient's case file.  
  
Sören got out of work at three PM; Anthony wasn't out yet and Sören didn't feel like spending the next few hours at the National waiting, so he took the Tube home. The walk to the station was grueling in the heat, and at this time of day there were more passengers and people were in too close proximity for Sören to feel comfortable. Nonetheless, getting to sit and take a load off his feet again got to him, and before Sören could start drifting off again he reached in his satchel for his earbuds and put on Tool, something loud to keep him awake.  
  
Sören took out his earbuds once he was off the train and having to listen as well as watch his surroundings on the way home, careful of oncoming cars. He dragged himself up each step to their flat, and after he washed his hands he fell over on the couch, and just lay there, even as he felt guilty about doing so in his scrubs. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.  
  
When he opened his eyes he realized he'd fallen asleep again, and when he looked at the clock he saw he'd been out for ten minutes. Sören made noises as he pulled himself to his feet and hauled into the shower.  
  
Sören could barely stay awake after his shower, and decided to take a nap before Anthony got home. The weight of Anthony sitting on the bed woke him up, and Sören murmured as he felt Anthony rubbing his shoulder and chest.  
  
"Hey," Anthony said.  
  
"Hi." Sören sat up, and smirked at Anthony in his robes, holding his wig. "How was court?"  
  
Anthony made a noise. "I brought home dinner."  
  
"Oh, _takk._"  
  
After Anthony got changed they sat on the couch together. It was fish and chips, and a salad on the side. Sören leaned on Anthony as they ate, giving Anthony some silence to decompress from a day in court. Finally Anthony patted Sören's knee. "I missed you," Anthony said.  
  
"I missed you too." Sören kissed his cheek.  
  
Anthony gave him a tired smile. "Mum called when I was just getting off work, so I took a detour to see her."  
  
"Oh." Sören looked at the clock then and saw Anthony was home a little later than usual. "_Oh._"  
  
Anthony nodded.  
  
"What did she want? Just to see you, or -"  
  
"Well, I asked her for help with wedding planning since we're both swamped at the moment. She let me know she hired a Humanist officiant to perform our ceremony - Dad grumbled about us not getting married in the Church of England, he was like, 'You know they marry the gays now, right?'"  
  
Sören snickered and rolled his eyes. "_The gays._"  
  
"_The gays._ This is what I mean when I say he tries but..." Anthony snickered too.  
  
"Neither of your parents are religious, though?"  
  
"No. It's just... traditional to be married in the Church of England. My parents were still married there, even though they're not religious, and..." Anthony shrugged. "But I don't feel comfortable with having a church ceremony, and I know you don't either -"  
  
"No. Especially not after my aunt Katrín found Jesus and started shoving religion down my throat." Sören scowled.  
  
"Yeah." Anthony went on, "Anyway, we're going to be married at the Gallery at H Club London in Covent Garden, which is licensed for a hundred guests. She also had wedding invites printed out." Anthony opened his briefcase and pulled out a royal blue envelope. Sören pulled out a card - marbled light blue, with silver foil scrollwork on the edges, elegant lettering.  
  
_Sören Sigurðsson and Anthony Hewlett-Johnson  
request the honour of your presence  
at their wedding  
on Friday, November twenty-second  
at one o'clock in the afternoon  
Gallery at H Club London  
Covent Garden  
Reception to follow  
Black tie required_  
  
Sören snorted. "So formal."  
  
Anthony chuckled. "Well, that's how you're supposed to do a wedding invitation."  
  
"And 'black tie.' As opposed to what, neon green tie?" Sören snickered at the mental image. "Are they only wearing black ties, and nothing else? That's kind of kinky."  
  
Anthony laughed harder and kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "This is why I love you," he said, and booped Sören's nose.  
  
Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip, and Anthony gave a little growl before he put the invitation down and resumed eating.  
  
"So now," Anthony said, "the question is who are we inviting."  
  
"Well..." Sören said, "I assume your family and Dag and Ari from mine."  
  
Anthony nodded. "I have to invite my gran and Donovan, and mum's brother, and my dad's surviving brother and his family... which means you're finally going to meet my cousin Alistair, the Olympic fencer." Anthony made a face. "I hate having to invite him at all but if I don't he's going to raise a shitstorm about it and pretend he's offended."  
  
"He sounds like a twat."  
  
"He _is_ a twat. I should already apologize for his presence."  
  
"OK, so how many people is all of that, between our family members?"  
  
"Presuming Dag and Ari both come, I would say maybe a dozen will actually show up, but that accounts for two dozen invites." Anthony leaned back against the couch. "Anyone from the National..."  
  
Sören nodded. "Colin. Pamela. Ed. Elise Hansen." _Poor Elise. I'm sorry I hate you right now._ "Elise's husband as her plus-one. I don't want to invite too many people from the National because I like to keep business and personal life separated, and we can't shut down the hospital with having too many people out, but..."  
  
"I understand. In my case, I have to invite everyone at Garden Court Chambers and plus-ones where applicable, or someone will be offended. Not all of them will actually _attend_, since it's on a weekday, but... enough of them will that it will make up the remainder of the hundred guests. That and, you know, the squad, Jack, Lawrence, Steve, Trisha, Vincente."  
  
Sören wanted to facepalm, but he kept from reacting, not wanting to have an issue with Anthony when he was just tired and needing to go back to bed when he was finished eating. "OK," Sören said, and shoved chips in his mouth.  
  
Sören looked at the clock - he needed to wake up at three AM tomorrow to be at work for five AM. For the first time in days he had over twelve hours between shifts, but it scarcely mattered when they were two different shifts and the shifts were so long. He was hoping Anthony didn't have much more to say, and Anthony got quiet again, but then when Sören glanced over at him he saw Anthony was looking thoughtful, as if he was searching for the right words.  
  
Sören braced himself.  
  
"You still have Friday off, yes?" Anthony prompted.  
  
Sören nodded slowly, and shoved more chips in his mouth.  
  
Anthony took a deep breath. "So speaking of the squad, we have been invited to an evening out with them."  
  
There it was. Sören dropped back against the couch, chewed, and then looked down after he swallowed, letting the displeasure register in his body language.  
  
"I haven't said yes yet," Anthony said, "but I did want to talk to you about it first."  
  
"Anthony, you realize what my hours have been like, and Friday is my only full day off this week, and I have to go in for seven AM on Saturday morning. I don't really think I should be out late on Friday night -"  
  
"Well, we don't have to be _late_. We could put in an appearance and leave within an hour -"  
  
_You and I both know that's not going to happen._ Sören gave him a look. Anthony sighed.  
  
"Look, Sören. Like I said, I didn't say yes yet. I'm not going to tell you that you can't say no. But I haven't been out with them all month, and they specifically invited you because they want you to feel included."  
  
_Because I felt so fucking welcome and included when they went to my art show in July._ Sören stopped himself from saying it aloud.  
  
"And it's getting to the point where they are taking it personally that you're..." Anthony didn't finish the sentence.  
  
"That I'm _what?_" Sören heard the irritation rising in his voice, felt his restraint breaking. "Still fucking angry that they showed up at my art show just to fucking ignore me and my work? Still fucking angry that Trisha and Vincente wouldn't eat any of the food I worked so fucking hard making for their bloody stupid fucking picnic?" Sören's voice was definitely not an indoor voice anymore, and he hated that he was yelling, knowing Anthony wasn't going to let it go and he just wanted to go to bed and be done with the day, but he couldn't stop himself, fists clenching, body tensing. "They are _your_ friends, Anthony."  
  
"They've been trying."  
  
"You call that trying?"  
  
Anthony didn't answer that directly. "Sören, I have not been _anywhere_ in over a month, and I'd really like to go out with my friends. I'd also feel really guilty leaving you behind considering I don't get to see you much these days."  
  
"So let me get this straight, you're telling me I can say no, but then you're kind of telling me not to say no -"  
  
"I didn't say that."  
  
"You didn't say that in those exact words." Sören raised an eyebrow. _Stop being a lawyer for five fucking minutes, Anthony._  
  
"Sören. Again. You can say no. But it would mean a lot to me if you said yes. If you gave them one last chance to show that they mean well and want to make my husband-to-be feel welcome. If you gave me a chance to get out for a little bit and..." Anthony's voice trailed off.  
  
"And what?"  
  
"Relax and enjoy myself in a way that I can't really do at home. I don't know, it's just the feeling of being cooped up lately."  
  
"You at least have the luxury of even feeling that way. I don't go anywhere, I can't even miss going anywhere because my entire fucking life is being taken over by..." Sören didn't finish the sentence. He saw that Anthony's eyes were too bright.  
  
"I don't want to fight with you," Anthony husked.  
  
"I don't want to fight with you either. I just wish..."  
  
"What." Now Anthony was challenging Sören instead of the other way around. "What. You wish what."  
  
_I wish you would ditch those assholes and find some better friends, or better yet, not be so insecure that you feel you have to have a clique to hang out with. We're not in school anymore, for fuck's sake._ But Sören knew the bullying wound ran deep, even though it affected him differently than it affected Anthony. Sören had learned to live as a lone wolf. Going into surgery had reinforced that. Anthony's profession was more social than his.  
  
Sören settled on something less likely to offend Anthony, that was still true. "I wish I had more time. So I wouldn't feel like being asked to something was such an imposition."  
  
Anthony nodded, though he had a wary look in his eye that told Sören he knew what Sören said in response wasn't his first choice of completing the "I just wish" sentence.  
  
Sören sighed. Anthony sighed too.  
  
They finished their meal. Sören showered and got ready for bed, and though it was still early yet for Anthony, he was waiting for Sören in the bedroom, already in his pajamas. When Sören rolled over, Anthony began to rub his back. Sören involuntarily flexed his fingers and toes, feeling the tension roll out of him.  
  
"That's nice," Sören mumbled.  
  
"I love you, you know." Anthony kissed the top of Sören's head, and rubbed his nose in Sören's curls. He kneaded Sören's back harder, and Sören moaned into the pillows as more waves of relief washed through him.  
  
Anthony rubbed Sören's back for awhile, then massaged Sören's scalp, and then at last, Sören's feet. Sören felt like he was melting by the time Anthony was finished, pulling Sören into his arms. Sören gave a little giggle as Anthony kissed the tip of his nose, then his mouth.  
  
The kiss deepened, heated, their tongues teasing, playing. Anthony's hand slid down from stroking Sören's cheek, to Sören's chest, thumb brushing a pierced nipple. Anthony started kissing Sören's neck, his thumb playing with Sören's nipple, and when he reached down for the waistband of Sören's pajama bottoms, Sören grabbed his wrist.  
  
"Anthony, I'm sorry, but I'm too tired."  
  
Anthony gave him a hurt look, and Sören felt guilty - he knew Anthony had needs. And Sören once again cursed his schedule; if he wasn't working so much and so run into the ground, he would have gladly made love with Anthony. The sex between them never got old - if anything, the more time they were together, the better they learned each other's bodies, practice making perfect, the best sex Sören had ever had.  
  
But with his guilt for leaving Anthony frustrated, and his resentment at his schedule and the hand dealt him for the foreseeable future, Sören also felt a flare of irritation, wondering if Anthony had just rubbed him down to soothe him out of the kindness of his heart, or if he was being nice because he expected sex. Sören hated that he was even thinking that, and now that gave him pause for anxiety - that was a bad sign.  
  
Anthony simply nodded, gave Sören a peck on the cheek, and pursed his lips as he turned the light out. "Good night," Anthony said.  
  
"Night, _elskan._"  
  
Anthony held him, but Sören could feel the tension in Anthony's body, and it intensified his concerns. Before Sören could give reassurance that he still wanted Anthony, Sören passed out, exhuasted.  
  
  
_  
  
  
Friday came, and it didn't feel like much of a day off. Neither had his previous days off since this new workload started, but at least the last two times he'd had off, Sören had caught up a bit on sleep. Today he had to go grocery shopping - resentful that it was yet another thing Anthony could have done on his own, instead of leaving it for him to do, wondering how Anthony survived before he moved in - and even a simple shopping trip felt like he was running a triathlon. But the worst part of it was the getting there and coming back.  
  
Sören and Anthony would be having dinner that night when they were out with Anthony's friends, so at least Sören didn't have to cook anything. After his grocery trip he went back to bed to get in a nap before Anthony got home from work.  
  
Anthony woke Sören up with kisses. Sören's irritation with having to be the one to go to the store faded as he felt Anthony's arms around him, the hand petting his hair, opened his eyes to the green eyes looking at him so adoringly. Then Anthony brushed a rose against Sören's lips, and Sören saw he had a bouquet of pink roses. Sören giggled as a rose was rubbed against the tip of his nose, before Anthony put it back in the bouquet.  
  
"What's the flowers for?" Sören asked.  
  
"To say thank you." Anthony skritched Sören's beard. "I appreciate your willingness to go with me to the pub tonight."  
  
Sören didn't know that he would call it willingness so much as it was not wanting to have further conflict with him. And it added bitterness to the sweetness of the roses. But Sören simply kissed his cheek and managed a smile.  
  
They were meeting Anthony's friends at the pub at eight. It was a place in Canary Wharf, which was forty-five minutes at optimum traffic, could be up to an hour one-way with delays. Sören wasn't happy about the travel time, especially when he knew they weren't going to be there "just an hour" if they were eating there too. But he held his peace as they got in the Audi, and held his peace on the way there.  
  
Despite the sleep, Sören still felt drained - he'd need a lot more than a day of rest to make up for what his mind and body had been through the last few weeks. He half-dozed in the car, trying to wake up a little with iced coffee.  
  
At last they were there, and were seated with Anthony's friends, the last two to arrive.  
  
"Sören," Trisha said, smiling and waving. "So good of you to join us. You look nice."  
  
Sören was in leather pants, a white ruffly blouse and a black vest, a contrast with Anthony's black blazer, white shirt and black trousers. Sören knew perfectly damn well Trisha didn't think he looked nice, and he gave her a syrupy-sweet smile in return, hoping she knew how fake it was. "You look nice too," Sören said - he was really starting to hate the color pink now, with how often Trisha wore it, tonight in a pink-and-black cocktail dress, a matching bow in her hair.  
  
A jazz band was playing, the same one they'd seen months earlier at a club. Sören tried to relax to the music, but as Anthony's friends began chatting at each other and Sören once again felt excluded from the conversation - like he was outside a door but not really let in - he could feel his anger flaring, moreso than usual because of what he was sacrificing to even come here.  
  
The anger intensified as they ate. The food wasn't great for the cost of it, they could have stayed in and eaten better-quality food for less. Sören also hated the sight - and sound - of Trisha and Vincente eating, after the way they'd snubbed his food at the picnic. The memory came rushing back to him, and the way they'd made fun of him about it later at the art show.  
  
But then the worst was when Trisha watched a pair of young women in a table by the corner flirting outrageously with one of the waiters, giggling. "Oh my word," Trisha said, "I hate it when chavs show up in a place like this."  
  
Sören had lived long enough in the UK to know what that word meant, and he found himself bristling. Ordinarily he'd agree that the girls were too loud and raucous while a band was having a gig, but he was also really uncomfortable with the way Trisha seemed to care about that less than the fact that they were of a lower socioeconomic class. He was also really uncomfortable that neither Lawrence nor Anthony said anything to her about it - in Lawrence's case having been raised in council housing, in Anthony's case as someone who not infrequently defended people less fortunate. And Sören himself came from a working-class background, where he was absolutely sure Trisha would judge him if she knew the extent of it. Sören thought about saying something himself, but he held his tongue.  
  
_We won't be here much longer._  
  
And yet, every second that passed, with Trisha making a face of disgust at the girls - enough where they saw her staring and gave her a filthy look in return - Sören got angrier and angrier, his heart beating faster. He was reminded of all the Tool he'd been listening to lately trying to make himself stay awake on the commute to and from work, and one song in particular ran through his head now.  
  
_Some say the end is near.  
Some say we'll see Armageddon soon.  
Certainly hope we will.  
I sure could use a vacation from this bullshit three-ring circus sideshow of freaks.  
  
Fret for your figure  
And fret for your latte  
And fret for your lawsuit  
And fret for your hairpiece  
And fret for your Prozac  
And fret for your pilot  
And fret for your contract  
And fret for your car.  
  
It's a bullshit three-ring circus sideshow of freaks._  
  
Sören sipped his Dirty Shirley loudly, loud enough that now Trisha looked at him, their eyes locking.  
  
_Some say a comet will fall from the sky.  
Followed by meteor showers and tidal waves.  
Followed by fault lines that cannot sit still.  
Followed by millions of dumbfounded dip shits.  
  
And some say the end is near.  
Some say we'll see Armageddon soon.  
Certainly hope we will  
I sure could use a vacation from this stupid shit, silly shit, stupid shit._  
  
Sören started to blow bubbles in his drink.  
  
"Could you not make that godawful noise?" Trisha asked. "I'm trying to hear the band."  
  
Sören pulled the straw away from his lips and cocked his head to one side. Before he could open his mouth to say _that's funny, considering you've been talking non-stop since we fucking arrived_, Anthony tapped him under the table and traced the letters S-O-O-N on Sören's knee.  
  
_Not soon enough._ Sören's fists clenched.  
  
Sören desperately needed to de-escalate the tension in him before it snapped and he exploded, not wanting to make a scene and upset Anthony. Sören took a few deep breaths and then he ran the mental script of his "happy place" - a future when he would be back to a regular schedule instead of a hundred hours a week, where he and Anthony would have two cats and cuddle with their cats... where he and Anthony could take bubble baths together, make love, go to Brighton. Sören thought about huddling with Anthony in a blanket nest, two adorable cats purring away, and he let the stress roll out of him, going deeper and deeper into that beautiful vision...  
  
"Sören. _Sören._" Anthony was gently shaking him awake.  
  
Sören woke with a start, and when he looked around the table at everyone staring at him - and people staring a few tables over - he realized he'd fallen asleep again.  
  
"Jesus, mate, you snore like a chainsaw," Steve said, and started imitating Sören's snores.  
  
"It's not that bad," Anthony said, giving Steve a stern look that indicated he should drop it at once.  
  
But Steve wasn't going to let it go. "Who falls asleep in a pub, anyway? You some kind of necro...philiac or something?"  
  
"_Narcoleptic_," Anthony muttered, looking more irritated.  
  
"Oh right, you're the necrophiliac," Steve said, giving Anthony a playful shove. "Does he get dead like that while you're bonking him?"  
  
Anthony opened his mouth and before he could speak, Sören said, "Why are you so interested in our sex life if you're not gay?" He sipped his drink and raised an eyebrow, hoping that question unsettled Anthony's rude friend, who deserved to be unsettled.  
  
But then Jack spoke up. "Maybe Sören is just auditioning for the band." He imitated Sören's snores.  
  
"He'd have to wear a suit for that," Trisha said with an eyeroll. "And our dear Sören prefers to... dress down... don't you, love?"  
  
Sören tipped back his glass, letting some ice fall in his mouth, and then he began to crunch it, hoping the sound annoyed her. As he crunched his ice he thought of a rebuttal, but he was too tired to be clever. So instead he said, "Well, you know, with all the hours I work, I like to be comfortable. And I don't know if Anthony told you lot ahead of time, but I've been doing hundred-hour shifts lately -"  
  
"And whose fault is that? Why haven't you gone into private practice?" Trisha narrowed her eyes. "Please, spare us the sob story of how much you work, as if we all don't put in a bloody lot of hours ourselves."  
  
Sören snorted. "I haven't gone into private practice because one, the NHS is sponsoring my visa, two, even when that isn't an issue, you realize you're talking to a Scandinavian, you should know how I feel about things like socialized medicine. Civilized countries take care of their own people. As far as my hours versus yours, there's a difference. You work a lot of hours, yes - I know that, I live with Anthony after all. But you don't work a hundred hours a week. You have time to do things like go to the pub. This is taking time out of one of the only chances I get to have some proper rest. I am _tired._ That's why I accidentally fell asleep. Sorry if it fucking offended you."  
  
"God, you're so negative," Trisha said. "I don't think we'll be inviting you to things anymore, because you're no fun."  
  
"That suits me just fine," Sören said, wiping his mouth and throwing his napkin down, getting up, "because I'd rather have a fucking root canal without anaesthesia than spend time with the lot of you." And with that, Sören got up and started marching out of the club.  
  
Sören stood outside, shaking with chills even though the late August night wasn't cold, lingering warmth from the day. Sören tried to take some deep breaths and get himself under control, but his heart was hammering in his ears. Tool once again began playing in his head:  
  
_Fuck smiley glad-hands  
With hidden agendas.  
Fuck these dysfunctional  
Insecure actresses.  
  
Learn to swim.  
Learn to swim.  
Learn to swim.  
Learn to swim._  
  
Anthony came out, and for a minute he and Sören just looked at each other, then Anthony began to march towards the Audi in the parking lot, pressing his keyring so the headlights flashed and the doors unlocked.  
  
They didn't say a word as they got in the car together, or as Anthony began pulling out of the parking lot and got on the road. It wasn't until they got on the highway that Sören finally spoke.  
  
"I fucking hate your friends."  
  
"OK," Anthony said.  
  
That response annoyed Sören even more than if Anthony had tried to defend them. "Just... OK? I... I don't get it."  
  
"I'm not going to ask you to keep giving them chances and try to make it work with them. It's been a year and a half, it's clear that you guys don't mix well."  
  
Sören leaned back against the car seat and folded his arms. "So wait... wait wait wait, hold up." He waved his hand and then held it up as he looked down, feeling his face scrunch up. His heart was beating harder now and the pit of his stomach started to rise, as he braced himself. "Your... reaction... to all of this is 'I guess you guys don't mix well, oh well,' and not 'they were shitty to you, I'm sorry?'"  
  
"I had a few words with them before I left," Anthony said, looking straight ahead at the road, but his tone was now that icy monotone.  
  
"So you finally see it? That they're not good people?"  
  
"Sören, you weren't exactly on your best behavior either."  
  
Sören glared at him. "Excuse me? They were being... well, you saw it, they were being _assholes_, and this wasn't the first time. What was I supposed to do, sit there and take it? If I'd said to you, 'hey Anthony, this is making me uncomfortable, can we go home now,' would you have actually _listened_ to me and gotten me out of there?"  
  
Now Anthony turned to look at him, and there was a wounded look on his face. "Yes, I would have."  
  
"You know, you acting hurt that I didn't think that would be your response is rich considering you're the one who's been shoving them on me for a year and a half and you made us stick around when shit got awkward at the art show and the picnic and..." Sören shook his head.  
  
Anthony sighed.  
  
"Oh for _fuck's sake._" Sören fought the urge to backhand him. _I am not going to be the kind of person who hits my partner when he's angry, no matter how tired I am._ "Stop acting like you're the aggrieved fucking party here -"  
  
"Well, now I'm even more in the middle than I was before."  
  
"Wait. _Wait._ Hold on a fucking minute. You mean after the way they disrespected me in there, you're still wanting to be friends with them? If our situation was reversed and those were my friends and they were being like that to you, they wouldn't be my friends anymore -"  
  
"That's because we're not the same person, Sören." Anthony's voice dropped back to that icy monotone. "It is as I have told you countless times by now. I have a history with them. A history that predates you."  
  
"I'm your partner."  
  
"Yes. You are. But asking me to choose isn't fair -"  
  
"And letting them disrespect me isn't fair either! What the fuck, how are you not so turned off by their shitty treatment of me that you're not just -"  
  
"Sören, _let it go._" Anthony's voice finally left the monotone register and now it was like a blade, cutting him to the quick. "I told you, your response wasn't the best either."  
  
"Excuse me for having fucking feelings. Excuse me for being fucking _hurt_. Excuse me for being fucking _tired_ where I'm going to be even more reactive than usual because I'm too tired to fucking think, just feel. Excuse me for -"  
  
"Sören, I said let it go. So stop. _Now._" Their eyes met.  
  
Sören shut his mouth, and they continued on home in stony silence. They continued to not speak and keep a distance of a couple meters away as they got changed and ready for bed. Sören pulled a blanket and extra pillows out of the hall closet and got on the couch, not wanting to share a bed with Anthony tonight, not wanting to even be in the same room with him. As he set the alarm on his phone, Anthony came out of the bathroom and stood in the living room with his hands on his hips.  
  
"Sören, you're not sleeping on the couch tonight. You need to rest in a real bed, or you'll be sore and stiff tomorrow and that's not good when you're on your feet performing surgery."  
  
"Piss off," Sören mumbled. He was very close to just telling him _fuck you, fuck this entire thing_ and he hated that he still loved Anthony, still wanted to make this work somehow.  
  
Anthony came over, snatched the phone out of Sören's hand, scooped him up off the couch, and carried him down to their room. Then he planted Sören in bed, tucked him in up to his chin, and he grabbed Finn and Tony and shoved them in Sören's arms. He hit the light, climbed on the other side of him, and rolled Sören against him.  
  
Sören started to cry on his shoulder. "Why are you still friends with them?"  
  
Anthony sighed. "Because feelings don't work on an on/off switch. And people are complicated."  
  
"They hurt me. They hurt _my_ feelings -"  
  
"Sören... I asked you to stop. I can't have this conversation with you. I cannot be put in the middle like this. The best I can offer you is that I'm not going to ask you to accompany me out with them anymore, and I'm not going to go out with them again until you go back to regular hours and have been back on regular hours for some time, so we can catch up on quality time together. OK?"  
  
That didn't satisfy Sören as much as Anthony promising to get rid of his "friends" would have - Sören felt stung that Anthony still wanted to be friends with them after treating him that way - but it would have to do for now. Sören nodded and sobbed some more.  
  
Anthony pet Sören's curls. "I love you." He kissed the top of Sören's head. "Get some rest."  
  
_There is no rest for the weary._


	41. The Downward Spiral

Once again, Sören woke to a handwritten note from Anthony.  
  
_I hope you have a good day at work today. I'm looking forward to seeing you on your break and feeling you in my arms. Holding you is my most favourite thing in the world._  
  
"Goddammit, Anthony." Sören got choked up, tears stinging his eyes as he brought the note to his nose, inhaled the comforting - and arousing - smell of Anthony's cologne.  
  
Sören's break coincided with Anthony getting out of court, and Anthony met Sören in the cafe, ready with coffee the way Sören liked it. This time when Anthony rose from the table, watching Sören walk in, Anthony strode over to Sören as Sören marched towards him, and in the middle of the cafe Sören was right in his arms, Anthony spinning him around a little before squeezing him tight.  
  
"God, I miss you," Anthony murmured into Sören's curls, burying his nose in them for a moment as his arms locked around Sören.  
  
Sören felt that tight lump in his throat again, but he didn't want to break down and cry.  
  
Sören leaned on him as they drank coffee together. Anthony stroked Sören's hand as he drank, and when Sören's coffee was finished, Anthony held him close again, rubbed Sören's scalp, which made Sören sigh with bliss as the tension melted out of him.  
  
Sören wanted to rest in Anthony's arms forever, but the cafe had so many people around and it was feeling stifling, oppressive. "Can we go for a little stroll outside?" Sören asked. "Get some fresh air?"  
  
Anthony nodded. "Fresh air would be nice, after being in court all day."  
  
They walked to Queen's Square, hand-in-hand, and after spending some time admiring the flowers - it was September now and soon enough the flowers would be gone - they sat on a bench together and Sören rested his head on Anthony's shoulder again. It was nice to just _be_, and it was a balm for Sören's soul that Anthony got that. They were each other's refuge. Already Sören felt a little better, even as he wanted desperately to just go home and sleep.  
  
Then Anthony's cell phone vibrated, disturbing the peace. Sören's eyes flew open and he watched as Anthony fumbled for his cell phone, cursing under his breath. Anthony's eyes widened when he saw what it was, and Sören watched as he fired off a text message.  
  
"Who was that?" Sören asked when Anthony was finished sending the message, feeling curious.  
  
Anthony took a deep breath. "Trisha," he said, eyes looking forward, knowing that was still fraught for Sören.  
  
"I... see."  
  
"She wanted to know how court went."  
  
"It couldn't have waited? Give you some more time to relax, and..."  
  
Anthony looked over his shoulder and met Sören's eyes. He kept his expression neutral but there was a tension there now, and Sören knew immediately he'd put his foot in it. "Look. I already told you that I won't push you to socialize with them anymore, and I won't go out with them until you've been back to normal hours for awhile. But I'm not going to apologize to you for having outside friends and people I talk shop with -"  
  
"Oh _for fuck's sake_, Anthony, I didn't ask you to apologize." Sören narrowed his eyes. "But we were having a quiet moment -"  
  
"And what? Is she expected to be a mind-reader? A remote viewer? Jesus Christ, Sören, she's a barrister, not a psychic."  
  
"I'm not putting this well because I'm tired," Sören said, hearing the edge creep into his voice. "What I mean is, I wish it could have waited until, you know, later. As opposed to intruding on what little time we had."  
  
"I always answer my phone if it's on. You know this. You've known this for a year and a half -"  
  
"OK, well excuse me for thinking my partner might actually think I'm more important than fucking _Patricia._"  
  
"Beatrice," Anthony muttered.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Her name is _Beatrice._ Not Patricia. Beatrice Courtenay."  
  
_Like I give a fuck._ But something about Anthony being so pedantic, so detail-obsessed, was so _him_ and Sören heard himself start to giggle madly.  
  
"What?" Anthony's jaw dropped. "What's so funny?"  
  
"You." Sören laughed harder. "You're so... you." As irritated as he was by Anthony continuing to associate with the people who disrespected him, he was tickled by Anthony's pedantic side.  
  
"I don't get you sometimes."  
  
"I don't get me sometimes either." Sören kissed Anthony's cheek. Then he sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm just... tired. And I want to spend time with you, and we have so little of it, and it felt like an intrusion."  
  
"I understand. I should have waited to send the text, it's just... force of habit."  
  
They held each other and Sören giggled again. _I'm losing my fucking mind._ "I love you."  
  
"I know." Anthony rubbed his nose in Sören's curls. "I love you too."  
  
Anthony came back four hours later to pick him up. Sören was relieved to come home and got in his pajamas right away. As tired as he was, he couldn't shut his mind off yet and needed to unwind, so he curled up with his Wacom tablet as Anthony watched something on TV. A few minutes into sketching, Sören noticed Anthony kept looking at him, and it felt a bit more than the "I haven't seen you all day, let me look at you" kind of look, like Anthony wanted to say something and wasn't.  
  
Sören finally put down his stylus. "What?"  
  
"Um..." Anthony looked at the clock, then at Sören. "Did you want to go out to dinner? I know it's late, but there are places open, and I thought it would be a nice change of pace..." Anthony gave him a shy little smile.  
  
_He wants to get laid._ Sören sighed and shook his head. "Even though there are less people out at this hour I still don't want to go out and be in a crowd atmosphere after dealing with the public all day. No offense."  
  
Anthony sighed. "OK. Shall I make you some sandwiches?"  
  
_I wish you'd make me an actual home-cooked meal._ "Yes, _takk._"  
  
As Anthony got up, Sören felt a pang of guilt, both at not wanting to go out, and over the fact that he should be grateful Anthony was even offering to make him something, rather than Sören having to get up and make it himself. But mostly he just felt numb. Numb and drained.  
  
He'd been working on this same sketch obsessively for weeks, even more detail than his usual detail-obsessed work. The other-him was standing with his shoulders slumped, head bowed, a sad expression on his face. The other-Anthony was a few meters away, walking away, not looking back, silver-gold mane blowing in the breeze. Sören could see it when he closed his eyes.  
  
He could _feel_ it.  
  
Anthony came back with the sandwiches - sliced chicken with bacon, Swiss cheese, lettuce and tomato on rye. He knew how to make good sandwiches, and Sören accepted his with a mumbled "_takk_". Anthony sat down next to him and began rubbing Sören's scalp and Sören sighed, leaning into his touch.  
  
"Can I see?" Anthony asked, reaching for the tablet.  
  
Sören was once again reminded of other-Anthony as a small boy - before he was the grown man who became his lover - exuberant, hyper, curious. _I want to see what you're making. Let me see. Let me see._  
  
Except now, Sören didn't want Anthony to see it just yet, or possibly at all. It was a private expression of his grief, feeling like everything was out of his control.  
  
Sören took his hand away. "I'd rather you didn't. I'm not ready yet."  
  
At the hurt look Anthony gave him, Sören felt bad, but he knew he'd feel even worse if Anthony saw the sketch and got the wrong idea. Even as Sören knew Anthony probably had the same memory.  
  
That was part of why he didn't just walk away when Anthony's friends disrespected him. It wasn't simply that he loved Anthony and would miss him terribly if he was gone, but their love felt bigger than the both of them. They felt fated, even as everything happening right now was chaotic hell and Sören felt at the mercy of it, and they were barely hanging on to ride the storm. Sören didn't just look into those emerald green eyes every day and see his future, but he also saw the past, and with it, a sense of meaning and purpose above and beyond the call to medicine.  
  
"I'm going to Mum and Dad's on Saturday while you're at work," Anthony informed him. "Some things are ready to harvest now."  
  
"Good, gardening is a good outlet for you," Sören said.  
  
Anthony nodded. He looked around at the flat, then at Sören. "I've been thinking, when this craziness is over and you're back to your usual hours... maybe we should move somewhere more central, like Holborn or Covent Garden, so we both have less of a commute time to work. I'd suggest we do it now, but the last thing we need on top of everything else is a move."  
  
"Oh." Sören nodded. "That wouldn't be a bad idea. As pretty as the riverfront is -"  
  
"It wasn't so bad when it was just me, but with the kind of hours you work even without the current schedule, the commute adds up. But also, I'd like to... you know. Move somewhere where I can have a garden. Because you're right, it's a good outlet."  
  
"You have a green thumb in my dreams, too," Sören said, smiling. "Green and gold."  
  
Anthony smiled too and kissed the top of Sören's head.  
  
Then Sören felt the need to ask something, feeling curious and slightly insecure. "Do you ever... do you ever wish we could go back?"  
  
"Back to..." Anthony looked confused.  
  
"That place in our dreams."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Sören realized Anthony probably thought "back" as in "before our relationship" - he hated that even for a second, Anthony seemed concerned Sören would break up with him - and watched the relief in Anthony's posture as he considered the question. After a few minutes, Anthony shook his head. "It was a beautiful world... we were beautiful... but it was a gilded cage. I was miserable, being forced to marry a woman I didn't love, didn't want, forced to stay in the closet, forced to live a lie. And after you were gone..." Anthony gave a shuddery sigh. "It was even worse."  
  
_So he does remember that._ Sören still didn't want to show him the sketch. "Was it?"  
  
"It was incredibly lonely." Anthony closed his eyes, looking like he was in pain; Sören ached for him, and felt guilty for leaving him alone. Then his arms tightened around Sören. "Even if we could live openly, live free, I still wouldn't want to go back there. Too many bad associations."  
  
Sören nodded. "Same here." Sören felt the sting of bitterness. He remembered leaving there, the endless snow and cold. While he wasn't glad that Anthony had been miserable there too, he was glad Anthony didn't want to go back. Sören found the idea of living there again even less appealing than a night with Trisha and Vincente.  
  
"If what we dreamed was real, _something_ is going on, something about our past is relevant to the present and future. But I don't think the answer to that is to go back there, to that place, to ourselves as we once were. It's not who we are anymore, it's not our world anymore." Anthony pursed his lips. "It never was."  
  
Sören nodded. "This is our life now." He kissed Anthony's cheek. "I will be so glad when this crazy shit is done so we can start living it again."  
  
"Yes. I'd love to show you more of the world, places I've been. Explore new places together."  
  
Sören giggled and started singing "_I can show you the world..._"  
  
"Oh god." Anthony tweaked Sören's nose.  
  
"That's one thing we didn't have back then... Disney musicals. Just for that alone, I'd rather stay here," Sören quipped.  
  
Anthony threw his head back and laughed; Sören loved making him laugh, it lit up his entire face. Lit up the entire world. "Oh, you."  
  
  
_  
  
  
It was the second week of September and the August heat had returned. Sören grimaced as he walked out of the National, feeling like he'd stepped into an oven. The entire walk to the Holborn station was sweaty and gross and Sören felt ready to cry by the time he got on the train.  
  
Back at the flat he took a long cool shower. Just before he could crawl in bed for a nap before Anthony got home, Anthony texted him.  
  
_What would you like me to bring home for dinner?_  
  
Sören realized he was trying to be considerate, and any other time Sören would be grateful for the chance to give input, Anthony wanting to make him happy by bringing home whatever Sören had a taste for. But right now it felt like one more executive decision he had to make, after making decisions at work all day. He hated that he was feeling stressed out over something simple like deciding where Anthony would pick up takeaway, it made him feel weak and powerless, it made him feel like a whiny spoilt brat when there were people in the world who were starving.  
  
_Surprise me,_ Sören texted back.  
  
Sören managed to wake up a little before Anthony got in, and was on the couch with his Wacom tablet. Anthony put the bag of takeaway down on the kitchen counter and opened up the fridge to get the iced coffee, nice on a day like this, and before he could get two glasses, Sören said, "Wash your hands."  
  
Anthony stopped and gave him a look. "Sören, I'm not five."  
  
"That's right. You're not five. You know better."  
  
Anthony swore under his breath, took off his Rolex and set it down on the counter, rolled up his sleeves and proceeded to scrub his hands the surgeon's way, the way Sören had taught him. Sören found himself annoyed that Anthony still had to be reminded about this, and part of him wondered if Anthony was being passive-aggressive, a subtle protest of Sören's hours and the fact that he wasn't getting laid, and he hated that he wondered that at all, but then, the company he kept...  
  
Anthony came home with fish and chips, which Sören loved, but he'd eaten fish and chips a little too much the last two weeks. He'd found out it was a comfort food for Anthony - naturally, being British, having grown up eating it - and Anthony was more stressed out than usual lately, between a big case and the added stress of Sören working a hundred hours a week, and they hadn't had sex in weeks. But for Sören, he was a little tired of it. Once again, he found himself annoyed that Anthony wasn't cooking for them, even though he knew Anthony worked a lot of hours himself and was stressed out too.  
  
"Fish and chips again," Sören said, opening the container.  
  
Anthony gave him a look that told Sören right away that Anthony knew Sören wasn't entirely thrilled. "If you wanted something different, you should have told me."  
  
"Anthony, after playing God with people's lives all day, the last fucking thing I want to do when I'm chilling at home is try to decide what we're both eating."  
  
Anthony paused, and put his food down. "Sören, I'm really sorry that I'm not a mind-reader. I was trying to do something nice, so it was one less thing you had to worry about."  
  
"Yeah, I know." Sören pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. I know I'm unbearable lately."  
  
"Hi Unbearable Lately -"  
  
Sören laughed with a mouthful of chips. He elbowed Anthony, who gave a tight smile.  
  
Then Anthony quipped, "It appears I didn't have to wait till your schedule evened out to adopt a cat. I'm living with Grumpy Cat."  
  
Sören howled and gave him a squeeze and a peck on the cheek. "I love you too."  
  
Anthony's smile was less tense and more genuine now. He kissed the tip of Sören's nose. "I'll try to do something other than fish and chips next time. I've had a hard time thinking too, with... this case. And missing you. Everything."  
  
Sören sighed. He felt that stab of guilt... and an additional stab of guilt for not feeling as guilty as he should feel, because he was getting too tired to feel. He just felt like a raw nerve all the time. "I'm sorry."  
  
Anthony took his hand and traced it with his thumb. "Thank you."  
  
After their meal, Anthony put in one of the X-Men movies on DVD, something they were both a fan of - Sören liked having someone to geek out with over Marvel. But as Sören lay there and tried to watch the movie, he thought about his own "mutant" ness, all the ways he'd been different as a child, was still different now. Sometimes he and Anthony would have philosophical discussions about it, as one kindred spirit to another. And tonight Sören didn't want deep thoughts, and he didn't want to get himself worked up thinking about being "the other" more than he already had to think about it. So he found himself reaching for his tablet, and sketching. Continuing to work on that sketch of when he and other-Anthony parted ways back then.  
  
"God, Cyclops is such a twat," Anthony said.  
  
_That's funny considering how much you're like him._ Sören didn't say it aloud. _I suppose that makes me Jean Grey. Well, I do have a thing with phoenixes..._  
  
"Oh, you're sketching?"  
  
"Mrr," Sören said with a little nod.  
  
"OK." Anthony sounded ever-so-slightly disappointed.  
  
Sören felt guilty again, but he also felt irritated, wishing Anthony would realize this was how he relaxed, not expecting to do everything together all the time. Sören felt the urge to snap at him again, and he knew that was unfair, and also potentially dangerous ground considering how much tension had been in the air lately - he didn't want to actually break up with him.  
  
Sören grabbed his earbuds and mp3 player, to drown out the movie, to drown out everything but his work. The vision, the consuming fire.  
  
Holding the ashes of those days like dust on the wind.  
  
  
_  
  
  
"You poor dear."  
  
It was the first time Sören had seen Elaine in over a month. As badly as Sören needed to rest, he missed his mother-in-law-to-be and her tender loving care. And as Elaine hugged Sören and kissed his cheek, it threatened to undo something in him.  
  
They could only stay a few hours, and then they would have to go home for Sören to get an early night's sleep since he was going in at four the next morning. But Sören was determined to make those hours count, desperately craving something approximating normalcy after what the last month and a half had been like.  
  
While Elaine cooked dinner, Sören and Anthony went upstairs to Anthony's old room. Anthony started to take out the gaming console, then when he saw Sören laying there looking exhausted, he stopped what he was doing and just held Sören for awhile, Jamiroquai playing on the stereo, his lava lamps going. Finally Anthony led Sören down the hall to the second-floor sitting room, with the grand piano, and Sören sat down next to him on the bench while Anthony flexed his wrists and fingers. Anthony took a few deep breaths and began to play the languid, bluesy piece that Sören recognized as the first song Anthony had ever played for him on the piano, what felt like ages ago now.  
  
And for the first time, Sören heard Anthony sing - shyly, hesitantly at first, but in a soulful baritone well-suited for jazz and R&B.  
  
_I wished on the moon, for something I never knew  
I wished on the moon, for more than I ever knew  
A sweeter rose, a softer sky  
On April days that would not dance by  
  
I wished on the stars to throw me a beam or two  
I begged on the stars and asked for a dream or two  
I looked for every loveliness, it all came true  
I wished on the moon for you_  
  
Tears came to Sören's eyes - the tears he'd been holding back since he arrived, it feeling so good to come _home_ to _family_ that it hurt. Anthony held him and Sören felt him shaking a little too.  
  
"Oh god, I didn't mean to make you cry," Sören said.  
  
"It's OK." Anthony reached for a box of tissues. He wiped Sören's tears, and Sören wiped his. "I worry about you." Anthony gave a sad smile.  
  
"I worry about you too." Sören touched Anthony's face, feeling a pang of guilt, wishing they could make love in his old bed like they had so many times before... _"brother to brother"_. It had been too long, and Sören was still too tired.  
  
"I'm OK," Anthony said, and pursed his lips, nodding.  
  
_No you're not._ Sören raised an eyebrow. "Do you..." Sören swallowed hard. "Trisha said I wouldn't have this problem if I worked private sector. Are you angry with me because I haven't done that?"  
  
"No," Anthony said. He put his hands on Sören's shoulders. "You're a good man, Sören. I admire your convictions." He pursed his lips again and he pulled Sören close, rocking him until Elaine called up to let them know dinner was ready.  
  
Elaine went all out for dinner, making a beef roast with potatoes and carrots cooked in its juices. Sören felt absolutely famished, and dug in. Elaine watched him eat with a smile on her face. "There's plenty if you'll want seconds," Elaine said. "I also made enough for you boys to take home."  
  
Sören got the feeling that Elaine somehow knew they were surviving on takeaway and sandwiches at the moment, and then he felt the sudden wild urge to yell at her for not teaching Anthony to cook. He stopped himself, and he felt like kicking himself for feeling this way, being angry with a woman who had been nothing but nice to him since they'd met, treating him like she was her very own son. _What the fuck is wrong with me._  
  
"I also made banana bread for pudding," Elaine said. "I know how much you both love that."  
  
Sören snickered. "I'll never get over you English calling everything pudding." Then Sören snickered harder as sleep deprivation gave him a thought of random silliness. "Maybe that's the Ultimate Question to the Ultimate Answer of 42 - how many things do the English call pudding?"  
  
Anthony laughed way too hard at this, enough that Roger shot them a look, and then Anthony calmed down, but he and Sören exchanged a guilty grin and had one last sporfle before resuming their eating. Elaine raised an eyebrow. "You look exhausted, dear," Elaine said, pouring lemonade into Sören's glass. She glanced across the table at Anthony. "You too."  
  
"Yeah. Work has been..." Anthony made a noise.  
  
Sören also made a noise.  
  
Sören was too tired to really have a conversation, but Anthony went on about his most recent court battles and something that usually Sören paid attention to - if it was important to Anthony, it was important to him - Sören felt himself starting to zone out. Somehow, after dinner, he made his way to the greatroom where Elaine was serving the banana bread.  
  
And that was when Sören closed his eyes and the world fell away. And then he felt Anthony shaking him. "Sören. Sören, love."  
  
"Oh shit, did I fall asleep again?"  
  
Elaine's eyebrows shot up and she pursed her lips. "Has this been happening often?"  
  
"Not every day, but often enough," Sören said.  
  
"I believe it's called microsleeping." Elaine nodded. "When I was pregnant with Anthony, actually, I started microsleeping by accident. It was rather unsettling, especially when I was waiting in traffic."  
  
"_Jesus._" Sören's jaw dropped, realizing how close that had been. Sören swallowed hard. "So far it hasn't happened in surgery." He gave a nervous laugh and knocked the coffee table.  
  
"So far. Hopefully you'll get relief from these hours soon." Elaine folded her arms. "You know, I don't mind coming over once a week and cooking enough food for you for a few days, doing your laundry -"  
  
"Mum." Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose and winced. "Mum, we're grown adults."  
  
"You're grown adults who are both working very hard and running yourselves into the ground."  
  
"I don't... want... my mother... to be my _servant_. That just isn't right."  
  
Sören fought the urge to yell at him _Jesus Christ, Anthony, she's offering._ While under normal circumstances he'd be uncomfortable with Elaine "mothering" them, these weren't normal circumstances and any little things that were one less thing they had to do, made a huge amount of difference. Not having to do laundry once every five days, or Anthony not having to go to the dry cleaners once a week with his suits, would help out tremendously. Sören knew Anthony had his pride - Sören imagined Anthony being a "mama's boy" was one of the things he got bullied about in his youth - but now was not the time or the place for pride, and Sören of all people hated admitting that.  
  
Sören stewed in silent resentment on the way home. He didn't want to be angry with Anthony, especially not after the cozy snuggling earlier that evening, the sweet song on the piano, the gift of Anthony breaking past his shyness enough to sing for him. But he was starting to feel like he was reaching his breaking point.  
  
Sören was frustrated enough that he couldn't go to sleep right away when they got home, even though he needed to go to bed early to wake up early - he knew he'd just lay awake, seething. So he grabbed his Wacom tablet and resumed drawing as Anthony watched something, again, assuming Sören would watch it with him.  
  
"Oh my god, look at that, that is bloody ridiculous."  
  
Sören didn't glance over at the screen. "Mrr," Sören said, his stylus continuing to glide, detail after precise detail. This was going to be hell to color in when it was time. It was nowhere near time.  
  
Sören felt Anthony staring at him, and their eyes locked, and Sören gave him a tired half-smile. Then he got lost in his sketch again. He put in his earbuds and withdrew into the world that he never wanted to go back to, but still haunted his dreams, still cast its shadow over their daily lives. He felt all the loneliness of his teenage years all over again, and he was listening to the perfect soundtrack for it.  
  
_When routine bites hard  
And ambitions are low  
And resentment rides high  
But emotions won't grow  
And we're changing our ways  
Taking different roads  
  
Love, love will tear us apart again  
Love, love will tear us apart again_  
  
  
_  
  
  
Elaine's leftovers had been a little too much of a good thing, and when they were done days later, Sören found himself really missing home-cooked meals. It was becoming apparent Anthony wasn't going to do it, though he did make a run to the grocery store with a list at Sören's request. And for the first time in months, at three AM, well before Anthony got up, Sören dragged out the slow cooker and threw in the makings for chicken with Spanish rice and beans. Just as he was getting ready to turn the slow cooker on, his cell phone went off. It was work.  
  
"Sören, I hate to do this to you, but can you come in right now?" Ed asked.  
  
Sören made noises. It was two hours before his scheduled shift. "Right now?"  
  
"Right now. We have a trauma incoming."  
  
"OK." Sören would have liked a chance to shower first, but duty called.  
  
Trauma cases were always demanding, and the younger the patient was, the more it upset Sören. This was a woman in her early twenties, and Sören had to keep it together as he operated on her - there was so much life in her, there were family members and friends who'd come to the National who clearly loved her. Sören kept remembering the death on his operating table in April, and the way he'd been passing out randomly as of late, and he willed himself to get through this. _Don't fuck this up._  
  
When the surgery was finally over twelve hours later - the patient survived, and this was the first step in the long road of recovery - Sören marched off to the bathroom and cried.  
  
Unfortunately, he wasn't done for the day. Sören took deep breaths, trying to pull himself together.  
  
After the remaining procedures of the day - a biopsy, a pre-surgery consult - Sören felt ready to drop. The walk to the Holborn station felt even more like an effort than usual, and it had been feeling like an effort for some time now. As soon as Sören took his seat on the overground train, enough relief flooded his body just from the sheer act of sitting that he worried about falling asleep. _I need something loud to give me a shot of energy._ He selected his metal playlist and hit "random".  
  
Then a song all too appropriate to Sören's mental state came on. He closed his eyes and breathed deep.  
  
_Can you feel that?  
Ah, shit!  
Oh, wah-ah-ah-ah!  
  
Drowning deep in my sea of loathing  
Broken, your servant, I kneel (Will you give in to me?)  
It seems what's left of my human side  
Is slowly changing in me (Will you give in to me?)  
Looking at my own reflection  
When suddenly it changes, violently it changes  
Oh no, there is no turning back now  
You've woken up the demon in me  
  
Get up, come on, get down with the sickness  
Get up, come on, get down with the sickness  
Get up, come on, get down with the sickness  
Open up your hate and let it flow into me  
Get up, come on, get down with the sickness  
You mother, get up, come on, get down with the sickness  
You fucker, get up, come on, get down with the sickness  
Madness is the gift that has been given to me_  
  
The train lurched, and Sören heard Deftones blaring in his ears instead of Disturbed.  
  
_It feels good to know you're mine  
Now drive me far away, away, away  
Far away I don't care where  
Just far away I don't care where  
Just far away I don't care where, just far away  
And I don't care_  
  
Sören realized he'd fallen asleep during "Down With the Sickness" by Disturbed - no small feat - and there had been at least half a song since then, probably more. He took out his earbuds and looked at the overhead screen announcing stops, which he usually watched. Now he saw that they were rolling into Shepperton.  
  
Sören let out a little scream. "OH SHIT."  
  
Sören bolted off the train as fast as he could. "Oh _shit_, motherFUCKER, MOTHERFUCK, _mömmuriðill fokking helvítis djöfulsin andskotin skítapíka typpatottar kúkur skítalubbi fokking fokk!_"  
  
Sören bounded onto the station platform and whipped out his cell phone. He did a GPS lookup and then Google Maps to see where he was. He had missed a few stops. He could get on another train and go to Kingston, or he could call a taxi, and neither option sounded good to him with his panic through the roof, and fear that he'd fall asleep again.  
  
He dialed Anthony's number. He knew Anthony was probably in court and this was going to go to voice mail. One ring, two, three...  
  
Anthony picked up. "Anthony Hewlett-Johnson."  
  
Sören raised an eyebrow. "Did you not check the ID before you swiped accept?"  
  
"Oh, it's you. And no, I didn't." Anthony gave a nervous little chuckle. "Sören, what's going on? Why aren't you texting?" A pause. "Is something wrong?"  
  
Sören's jaw trembled. _First I fall asleep and miss my stop, now I'm bothering Anthony at work..._ "_Ég er helvítis hálfviti. Ég sofnaði í fokking helvítis lestinni..._"  
  
"OK, Sören. Sören. Sweetheart. Love. I don't speak Icelandic. _Vi kan have denne samtale på dansk, hvis det er lettere for dig_, but I need you to take some deep breaths, OK?" Anthony demonstrated on his end of the line by breathing deeply.  
  
Sören took a few deep breaths and had a coughing fit - his asthma kicked in from the run and stress. He took a puff on his inhaler and then he tried to calm himself.  
  
"Whatever it is, honey, we can deal with it. What happened?"  
  
"Are you in court? I don't want to bother -"  
  
"Court just adjourned five minutes ago."  
  
"I fell asleep on the train," Sören said.  
  
"OK. Are you all right? Are you unharmed? Did anyone rob you or assault you?"  
  
"No, not that I'm aware of." Sören patted himself down and then took a peek in his satchel.  
  
"OK. But you... fell asleep on the train and you're calling me because..."  
  
"I'm in Shepperton. I missed my stop and I'm..." Sören took a couple deep breaths. He saw his hand shaking. "I'm having a panic attack and I don't want to call a cab or get back on the train -"  
  
"OK. Are you at the station."  
  
"Jæja, I don't know my bloody way around here so that would be a yes."  
  
"OK. If you can hang tight for another hour to an hour and a half I'll be there to pick you up."  
  
"OK. I'm sorry -" Sören realized that Anthony would be driving past Kingston and it would mean getting home later than usual.  
  
"Shit happens. Try to relax and I'll see you soon, sweetheart."  
  
"OK."  
  
"I love you."  
  
"I love you too."  
  
Sören tried not to cry, since he was in public, but a few silent tears came on anyway, as Sören continued to internally berate himself for passing out on the train. He hadn't thought he'd fall asleep to metal, of all things, but it was proof of just _how_ utterly broken down he'd become with this schedule, and there was no end in sight.  
  
For the first time since the hundred-hour-a-week bomb dropped on him, Sören contemplated having a meeting with Ed and telling him _I can't handle it, I need less hours_. But he knew that would be seen as unprofessional, and a sign that he couldn't handle the job _period_, since he knew of so many other surgeons who were putting in or had put in the same kind of hours he was doing now. This was considered par for the course when you entered this line of work - lots of hours in general, every so often a crunch to pick up the slack when someone went. There were other neurosurgeons not falling apart the way he was, and Sören knew it would be seen as weakness on his part. He had worked this sort of shift before in Reykjavik from time to time and not deteriorated the way he was deteriorating now.  
  
And he knew what the difference was. _Now I'm living with someone who I'm having issues with, and I feel like I have to take care of two people instead of one._  
  
Sören knew that wasn't entirely fair, thinking of all the little things Anthony did for him, and the chores Anthony kept up with - laundry, basic cleaning - even when he too was feeling exhausted. But Sören thought of the meal cooking in the crock pot and wished Anthony would do something like that. _If he can't do it, he should have been willing to let his mother do it, for fuck's sake._  
  
Sören people-watched as he waited for Anthony to come, but he felt as much like an outsider now as he had felt in the world he and Anthony dreamed of. _I don't belong anywhere._ He felt anchorless... homeless... adrift.  
  
Sören shuddered. He once again thought about the way he'd fallen asleep on the train, and now he had serious concerns about falling asleep during surgery, even though it was a different state of consciousness. He thought about the irony of how he and Anthony met because he'd reported Peter Rafferty, someone Anthony was defending in a malpractice suit - someone Sören had reported as being drunk on the job, too impaired to work. Now Sören felt he was probably too impaired to work, and yet he couldn't tell them that.  
  
"Fuck," Sören said to no one in particular.  
  
When Anthony's Audi pulled up, Sören ran, even though he was tired and that wasn't what his lungs needed right now. Anthony was still in his robes from court, and George was sitting on the armrest between their seats. Anthony had stopped to get them both coffee, and Sören accepted the iced coffee with gratitude.  
  
"I'm so, so sorry about the extra travel time -"  
  
Anthony put up his hand. "Like I said, shit happens. Let's just... get home."  
  
Sören nodded. "I know you had a long day."  
  
"I did." Anthony nodded. "And so did you."  
  
Sören managed a weak smile, knowing Anthony must be feeling demoralized, somehow, wanting to give him some strength, some hope. "At least we have a nice home-cooked meal waiting for us in the slow cooker. I'm making chicken."  
  
When they got home, the flat did not smell like chicken and Spanish rice at all, but the usual neutral-with-a-touch-of-lemon-air-freshener scent. Sören marched immediately into the kitchen and saw the slow cooker was off.  
  
He realized then he'd been interrupted by Ed calling him in when he was putting everything in the slow cooker. He'd forgotten to turn it on, with his mad dash off to work, and he hadn't told Anthony to turn it on.  
  
"Oh no," Sören said. "Oh god. Oh no. Oh shit..."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
Sören pointed at the slow cooker and started making noises. Then he fell apart, sobbing.  
  
Anthony came behind him and his arms were around him, holding him tight, soothing. Anthony nuzzled Sören's neck and kissed his shoulder. "Shhhhh, love. Shhhh, it's all right."  
  
"It is _not fucking all right._" Sören wept harder. "It's never going to _be_ all right."  
  
"I'll call for delivery, or we can go out -"  
  
Sören took Anthony's arms off him and whirled around, glaring at Anthony in his robes in the kitchen. "No. No we can't. Do you not understand how fucking sick I am of takeaway all the time? Maybe _you_ could survive like that before I moved in, but I like at least one home-cooked meal a week, maybe two. I'm a doctor. Even though we try to not get total crap when we order out, it's still... healthier. And makes me feel like, you know, I have a home I live in instead of someplace I'm just sleeping at, like a hotel."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"No. You're fucking _not_ sorry, because if you _were_ sorry, you'd start cooking once or twice a week like I fucking asked you to -"  
  
"Sören, I told you. I am a crap cook. You bitch about takeaway, but you'd be bitching even more about soup and grilled cheese, plus the sodium content in soup, plus the fat content in the cheese and butter..."  
  
"Anthony Hewlett-_Johnson._ You. Went. To. Cambridge. It is not _that fucking hard_ to Google recipes on the fucking Internet, or call your mum for fuck's sake and ask her for some simple and easy instructions to follow. OK? I was cooking when I was nine fucking years old for myself and my siblings and my cousin out of fucking _necessity_ because if I didn't cook we wouldn't fucking eat, with my aunt and uncle being drunk all the fucking time, and my sister was a little older but she was actually working odd jobs to get money for food because they pissed the food money away, so that was how I took the burden off her. If a nine-year-old can do it, you can bloody do it. Hell, throwing things in a crock pot to cook all day takes minimal effort - put your stuff in, turn a bloody fucking knob."  
  
"Which is why of course the slow cooker is ready now, oh wait, it's not."  
  
Sören once again fought the urge to slap him, remembering the way his aunt and uncle hit each other before turning their aggression onto the children. _Rise above._ Sören took a few deep breaths. "Get. Out. Of. My. Sight."  
  
Anthony glared back at him - Sören hated that he found Anthony so devastatingly sexy when he was angry - and then Anthony stalked off, robes flowing. Sören heard the bathroom door slam, and then he heard the sink...  
  
...and Anthony crying, trying to mask it with the sink running.  
  
Sören washed his hands and rubbed his face. He started crying too, as he opened up the slow cooker. The chicken had been sitting out for over twelve hours at room temperature. Sören hated wasting food when he had so little to eat growing up, and he sobbed as he threw out the uncooked contents of the slow cooker. Then he leaned against the fridge, crying, until he was doubling over, and finally dropped to his knees, and then flopped over and just lay there in the fetal position on the cold linoleum in his scrubs, sobbing hysterically.  
  
Anthony came out of the bathroom, grabbed his keys, and left without saying a word, door slamming as he took off. Sören continued to lay there, crying, and wondered if Anthony was leaving to get food or if he was leaving to go get drunk or if he was leaving-leaving.  
  
_He wouldn't be leaving-leaving, all his stuff is here._  
  
But the thought that maybe Anthony was starting to consider leaving filled Sören with terror. As angry as he was right now, he still loved Anthony. He wanted things to work. The key word was in fact "work" - they both clearly had things they were going to need to sort out between them. But the thought of Anthony not being in his life anymore...  
  
Sören closed his eyes and he saw his other-self, and other-Anthony, standing in freezing rain.  
  
_You have to go back. You can't come with me.  
  
Why?  
  
Because they will kill you. They will kill your children.  
  
I told you I would stand with you, fight with you, die for you -  
  
I know, dear brother._ Sören saw his other-self kissing other-Anthony's brow. _It is easy enough to die for me. Go live for me. You may be the last of our blood when this is done. Someone needs to carry the fire._  
  
Other-Anthony tugging at him, screaming _I'm not leaving you!_ so much like the small, hyper boy he once was.  
  
Sören rolled over, his face on the cold linoleum tile. His tears puddled on the floor. "I hate this. I hate everything."  
  
Anthony came back a little while later. Sören had somehow managed to scrape himself off the kitchen floor and he was sitting on the couch, staring into space.  
  
"Here," Anthony said. "I got us Indian food."  
  
"_Takk._"  
  
Anthony sat next to him - a few centimeters away, but still in proximity. For a few moments they ate in silence, and Anthony finally took a deep breath and Sören knew he was gathering his thoughts. "I shouldn't have made that snide comment about you forgetting to turn the knob on the slow cooker," Anthony said.  
  
"No, you fucking shouldn't have."  
  
"No. And you're right that I should be doing more." Anthony looked down. "When I was a kid, I liked helping my mum around the kitchen. There was only so much that she was willing to let me do when I was eight, nine, ten, because, well, I was hyper and my mum actually wanted the food to be edible. But then I made the mistake of going to school one day bringing in a cake I'd made and I never heard the end of it. I got called a mummy's boy and I was told I was a faggot before I knew what that word even meant. Of course years later, here I am, I'm gay, but..."  
  
"But whether or not you can cook has shit-all to do with your sexual orientation."  
  
"Right. But I admit I absolutely internalized the toxic masculine bullshit about cooking being 'for girls' -"  
  
"I cook and I'm not a girl."  
  
"No shit, I wouldn't be with you if you were. But you're also..." Anthony made a vague hand gesture. "Effeminate isn't quite the right word, but there's a reason why my gran asked when I was going to put a baby in you and not the other way around."  
  
"Yeah, I get it. I know I'm _sensitive._" Sören made a limp-wristed gesture. "Me, myself, I say fuck all that gender roles nonsense."  
  
"Yeah. I know. The idea that cooking is just 'for girls', or soft boys, is... well... it's sexist as fuck and I know it's wrong. But, my schedule being what it is, hasn't exactly made me enthusiastic to try to work against that conditioning and start cooking. I don't have your crazy hours but I'm tired and stressed out too, Sören."  
  
Sören pursed his lips. He ached for the hurt, bullied boy that Anthony had been, and he was angry with society, and he was angry with himself for getting irritated with Elaine on the assumption that she'd never taught him to cook.  
  
"I'm actually kind of ashamed that I don't do more," Anthony went on, "but I'm also afraid of trying to learn how to cook now when I myself am under a lot of stress. I worry about incidents like the one today, where the knob isn't turned, or maybe something else, something gets burnt... and it's my fault."  
  
"I don't get it. You're usually so attentive to detail and sometimes it's like you never forget a thing."  
  
"That's because you'd be surprised what I _do_ forget." Anthony gave a bitter laugh. "One of the reasons why I'm glad I'm in a suit-wearing profession is I don't have to try to match things when I'm half-awake or worry about leaving the house with my shirt on inside out. I'm bloody serious."  
  
Sören gave him a hug. He thought about asking Anthony if he'd ever been evaluated for attention deficit disorder - he worked with enough neurologists that he was familiar enough with the evaluations - but he didn't want to be rude, especially not right now when things were so fraught still.  
  
Anthony returned the hug. "I'm going to swallow my pride and ask my mum to... to help. I don't want to, but..."  
  
"I think that in the long run, it'll be better. And she did offer. I don't get the sense she would have offered if she didn't mean it."  
  
"No, she wouldn't have."  
  
They rocked together for a few minutes and then Anthony said, "Do you still have next weekend off? The twenty-first and twenty-second?"  
  
Sören nodded. A fit of madness overtook him and he heard himself singing "_Do you remember, the twenty-first night of September..._"  
  
"Oh lord." Anthony chuckled. Then he pulled back a little and looked into Sören's eyes. "You want to go to Brighton for the weekend? The ocean air might do us both some good."  
  
"OK." Sören nodded. "And it would be nice to have some quality time together."  
  
"It would."  
  
Their eyes met, and Sören got the feeling Anthony was thinking about exactly what kind of "quality time" he'd like, and Sören missed it too. He wished with all his heart he weren't so bone-tired, makeup sex with Anthony would have really helped. But he was too exhausted for that, and he knew Anthony was probably going out of his mind with frustration. "I'm so sorry," Sören mumbled into his shoulder.  
  
"Shhhhh, love. Let's just eat and get some rest. Tomorrow's another day."  
  
But Sören couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of tomorrows.


	42. The Fragile

Anthony had let Sören sleep in that Saturday morning - till noon, then gently woke Sören up, pointing out the drive to Brighton was two hours so he needed to get up so they could get a move on. Even with having been allowed some extra sleep, Sören was barely able to stay awake on the drive to Brighton, dozing off then coming back to himself whenever Anthony sped up or slowed down, or the car made a turn. Sören was half-asleep as they pulled into the parking stall near their beach house, and Anthony reached out to pet him, rub his shoulder. "Sören, love, we're here."  
  
It was the fall equinox, September twenty-first, and already there was a chill in the air as Sören got out of the car. The beach was foggy, the sky overcast. This was far from the first time they'd been to Brighton when it was less than warm and sunny - Sören and Anthony seemed to both prefer cooler weather and overcast days on the beach, anyway - but it seemed to Sören as they walked from the car to the beach house that the weather was apt, reflecting his inner sadness and troubles. Sören also had a strange sense of foreboding as they stepped to the door: _This will be the last time we come here._  
  
Sören didn't like that thought, and he wanted to chalk up the sudden pessimism to the fact that he was just _tired_ all the time now and not thinking rationally and everything felt catastrophic when he was in crisis management mode all the time at work. But he couldn't shake that feeling, that everything was falling apart.  
  
Sören managed to put that thought aside as he and Anthony went out to the shingle beach. For a long time they just sat on the beach, cuddling together, watching the waves. Anthony was right that the salt air of the ocean would do him some good - Sören felt himself relax as he breathed in. The view of light peeking through the clouds, silver-gold, the ocean sparkling, the swirling mists on the beach, took Sören's breath away, as did the sight of Anthony in a forest green cashmere sweater and faded jeans, the green of his sweater bringing out the green of his eyes, smiling at him with love.  
  
Finally they went for a walk down the shingle beach, hand-in-hand. It was late afternoon and there was an old-gold tinge to the air. High tide was coming in, and after they'd been walking for awhile, Sören took off his boots and socks and went out to the water's edge, letting the tide roll over his feet, which he found soothing. Anthony watched him from a few meters away and then Anthony did the same thing, coming up behind him, holding him as the water washed their feet. Sören wiggled his toes and giggled, and tilted his face up to Anthony, cheek to cheek. Anthony's arms tightened around him and they rocked a little, to the slow, easy rhythm of the tide.  
  
"I've missed you so much," Anthony husked.  
  
"I've missed you too."  
  
They kissed, and Sören burned that memory into his mind, a perfect moment when Sören could briefly forget about how much he'd been working and all of the little conflicts they'd had the last few months. It was just them, and the beauty of the world they lived in, a balm for their souls. Once again, Sören thought about what life would be like when he was back to normal hours. He thought of a future with he and Anthony living by the ocean with a couple of cats, growing old together.  
  
"I love you," Anthony said.  
  
"I love you too."  
  
They kissed again.  
  
They carried their socks and boots back to the house, and as soon as they got in the door and put their footwear by the door, Anthony pulled Sören into his arms and kissed him deeply, hungrily. Sören felt torn - he knew Anthony wanted to make love, and Sören wanted it too, but he was still so _tired_. The extra sleep this morning and the nap in the car hadn't quite recharged him. The sea air and the peace of the ocean had relaxed him enough that he felt sleepy again.  
  
But Sören wanted to at least try. He was angry with how much life he'd missed out on with his insane hours - he felt like he'd been robbed. He didn't want to just give Anthony some relief with sexual release, but he wanted it for _himself_, to feel like he was reclaiming something stolen from him... and just because he loved making love with his husband-to-be. He had been aching for Anthony's touch, aching to be one with him, aching for them to come together, that moment of transcendence where they felt infinite.  
  
They kissed all the way to the bed. Anthony put on the gas fireplace in the bedroom, which created a nice romantic ambiance - and a nice cozy ambiance, relaxing Sören even more deeply. "I love you," Anthony said, kissing Sören as he reached for the button of Sören's jeans, feverishly undressing him. "Let me take care of you."  
  
Sören helped Anthony undress too, and with their clothing shucked to the floor in a messy pile, they climbed onto the bed together. For a moment they just held each other, naked and vulnerable in each other's arms, looking into each other's eyes. Then Anthony leaned in and they kissed, and Sören moaned into the kiss, again as hard cock rubbed against hard cock, Anthony's hands sliding over him, fingers walking over him as if Anthony was trying to feel every inch of Sören's flesh that he could touch, starving for him and needing it all. Sören felt a shiver down his spine at Anthony's touch, breaking out into gooseflesh, cock throbbing, nipples aching. He _wanted_. They kissed again, more passionately, and then Anthony was kissing Sören's neck and shoulder. "I've missed you," Anthony whispered. "I've missed this."  
  
"Fuck me," Sören panted, spreading for him.  
  
Anthony chuckled and stroked Sören's face, traced Sören's lips with his thumb. Sören sucked on Anthony's thumb and Anthony gave a little growl, heat in his eyes as he watched Sören's lips latch around it. Then Sören licked Anthony's thumb and drew Anthony's lower lip between his, sucking on that, too. "Fuck me," Sören rasped. "Take it."  
  
"It's been long enough that I want to take my time and enjoy you," Anthony said, petting Sören's curls, looking into his eyes. "If that's OK."  
  
As needy as Sören was to get fucked, he wasn't going to say no to that. Foreplay just made it better, and Anthony was certainly a master at it, knowing how to play Sören's body like a violin and build the sensation and desire until Sören was ready to explode. Sören wondered what Anthony was in the mood for - if he was going to get tied up and teased. Another shiver went through him at the delicious thought.  
  
But then Anthony said, "Would you like a massage?"  
  
"Oh, _fuck._" That was almost even better, with how stressed out Sören had been over the last month and a half, the stress accumulating in his body so now he just _ached_ all the time in a way ibuprofen wasn't helping. "I'd love that, _takk._"  
  
Anthony smiled and kissed Sören's brow, rubbed noses with him. "I told you I want to take care of you, sweetheart."  
  
"God, I love you." Sören crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip.  
  
Anthony growled into Sören's neck before he kissed it - Sören felt Anthony's cock jolt against his and smiled, then let out a gasp as Anthony nibbled at the sweet spot where Sören's neck and shoulder met, licked it, one of Anthony's hands straying so his thumb brushed a nipple, then rubbed it, rolled it.  
  
Anthony leaned up and patted Sören's thigh, and Sören turned over, laying on his stomach, head resting on the pillows. Anthony went off to the kitchen and Sören heard the microwave, and Sören dozed off for a few minutes, waking up again when he felt Anthony's weight on the bed, waking up more when he felt warm liquid pour onto his back. There was a pleasant vanilla smell, and Sören smiled, despite his annoyance with himself for microsleeping again while Anthony was warming the oil.  
  
Anthony straddled Sören's ass, and Sören groaned at the feel of Anthony's hard cock rubbing in the cleft. He groaned again, louder, as Anthony began to knead his shoulders. Sören's fingers and toes flexed involuntarily, and he heard himself sigh as Anthony's hands worked his shoulders firmly, deeply, the tension rolling off him in waves. Melting into the mattress. When Anthony's hands left his shoulders, they were tingling blissfully - his whole body felt like it was chiming, made of light. In Sören's mind's eye he saw Anthony in his father's garden, giving the plants tender loving care, and that feeling he'd had that they were somehow responding to it... the vision of "the time before", the place of their dreams, where other-Anthony's hands fed golden light into each plant in his garden and they soaked it up. _His touch is magic,_ Sören thought to himself - even though as a doctor, a man of science, he knew that wasn't real - and he smiled at the thought.  
  
Sören carried a lot of tension in his back, and Anthony's hands pressed in and rubbed in deep, hard circles, then more gentle waves, back and forth, back and forth. Sören was ready to cry, it felt so good, relief and relief and _relief_, so much relief that the urge to cry went away, there was no emotion at all, only peace. He was melting again, washed into the light, and then the darkness, deeper, deeper...  
  
Sören was vaguely aware of Anthony tucking him in, kissing his brow. "Hrrnn?" Sören mumbled.  
  
"You fell asleep," Anthony said, and patted him. "Have a good nap."  
  
"Hrrnn." Sören felt the briefest pang of guilt - they were supposed to make love, and he'd fallen asleep during the massage, before that could happen - but then he faded back into sleep.  
  
_  
  
  
They are standing in the always-winter wasteland, the freezing rain. The three brothers have been sharing a tent when they make camp, but Sören asks for a word with Anthony alone and they step outside. Sören has Anthony follow a few meters behind, using his keen senses to make sure nobody else is following.  
  
Every step feels like lead. Every step it feels like more and more of the darkness and cold of the winter is swallowing him, with the inevitability of what he must do. What must be done, even as Sören desperately does not want to, his heart shattering like broken ice.  
  
Finally Sören turns around and Anthony comes closer, and Sören stops him a few paces away.  
  
"You have to go back. You can't come with me."  
  
Anthony swallows hard, a stricken look on his face. "Why?"  
  
Sören takes a deep breath. "You know why. Because _they_ will kill you. They will kill your _children._"  
  
Anthony shakes his head vehemently, clenches his fists, like the little boy he once was being told "no". "I told you I would stand with you, fight with you, die for you -"  
  
"I know, dear brother." Sören comes closer, and now he kisses Anthony's brow. He takes a moment to look at Anthony, magnificent in his rage, all golden fury like the sun going nova. He burns this into his mind's eye, knowing it is the last time they will see each other, so he will never forget. "It is easy enough to die for me. Go _live_ for me. You may be the last of our blood when this is done. Someone needs to carry the fire."  
  
And then Sören shoves him. "Go."  
  
Anthony steps forward and tugs at the hem of Sören's tunic, tugs at his cloak. "I'm not leaving you!" Anthony's arms lock around him, tight as a vice. "I will not. I will not, _will not, **will not**_..."  
  
The voice seems to echo over the mountains. For the briefest instant it sounds like a second voice is joining his, male, like their father's but somehow not, and then it is gone. Anthony is breathing harder, tears pooling in his eyes. Sören once doubted that Anthony had the same fire as him and their other brother, but many times over the years Anthony has proven he does, and this moment most of all. Anthony is _seething_.  
  
"You must go back," Sören says, stern, unyielding. He pushes Anthony away, much as he wants to stay in those arms forever. "You must renounce me. You must tell them you were wrong."  
  
"No, I will not deny you, _I will not_ -"  
  
"You will, or your children's blood will be on your hands... and mine."  
  
Anthony takes a deep breath, and then Sören sees that silver-gold mane billowing in the winter wind, rushing harder, faster, fiercer, and he sees something like a white fire around him for a few seconds. "You just want to get rid of me," Anthony says. "You never have time for me anymore -"  
  
"We're in the middle of a war, in case you haven't been able to tell."  
  
Anthony shakes his head. "You still have time for our brother." And then he sneers. "That's it, isn't it? You don't want me anymore. You just want _him_."  
  
That isn't true - Sören loves both of them deeply, fiercely, madly. His love for them _both_ inspired his greatest work. His love for them _both_ is why he is trying to find a new home for them, to live free. Sören is stung by Anthony's accusation that he's somehow less to him than their brother, that his love for Anthony is not as strong, not as deep, not as wild. Sören loves them _differently_ \- his relationship with their brother is very different from his relationship with Anthony - but they are both important to him. Indeed, nothing is more important to Sören, save his sons, and his brothers' children who are like his own. The reason why the theft of his great work is so bitter - and why Sören strives at all costs to get it back - is because of how much he loves the both of them. It is not merely a piece of his soul that went into it, but his soul on fire with their light.  
  
And yet, as much as it pains Sören, he looks into Anthony's eyes - the reflection of the white flame aura - and he knows that this is the only way to make him go, the only way to save Anthony's life. "You're right," Sören says, and he turns his back to Anthony, both so Anthony will think he is being shut out, and so Anthony cannot see the lie in his face, in his eyes, cannot see the tears starting. "I don't want you anymore."  
  
He hears Anthony huff, and then he hears Anthony's boots crunch in the snow. When he hears them a distance away, Sören finally turns around and he watches Anthony keep walking into the freezing rain, not looking back, never looking back, until finally he disappears into the fog.  
  
Sören hears later that Anthony has left, along with his wife, and their brother's wife. "Good," Sören says, nodding.  
  
But it isn't good. Sören keeps thinking of watching Anthony walk into the freezing rain, and he thinks of how cold Anthony's life will be when he returns, living in a loveless marriage... living without the love of his brothers.  
  
_At least he will be alive._ Sören flexes his fingers. _I am already dead inside._  
  
His light is gone. He has their other brother, but for all that Anthony thinks he was being pushed out, love him as Sören does, it isn't the same without them both there. And now it is freezing rain in Sören's head all the time, all color drained from the world, the fire in him guttering as low as it ever has.  
  
It is time to relight that flame. He is even angrier now with the sowers of discord among them, disloyal when Anthony would have died for him.  
  
"Burn them all."  
  
_  
  
  
"Sören, honey, wake up and eat something."  
  
"Mmmf?"  
  
Anthony gently shook his shoulder. "I made dinner."  
  
"What time is it," Sören mumbled.  
  
"Eight PM."  
  
Sören was just alert enough to do very brief mental math and realize he'd been asleep for three or four hours roughly. "OK," Sören said. "In a minute."  
  
He went back to sleep.  
  
Some time later he was roused half-awake by the feel of Anthony climbing in bed next to him. "Sören, dinner's in the fridge to heat up in the microwave if you wake up and get hungry."  
  
"You're going to bed now?"  
  
"Yeah. It's a little after eleven PM."  
  
"Oh. Shit," Sören mumbled. Again that brief pang of guilt, but before it could hit him too hard, he slid back into sleep.  
  
He was aware of the light of morning, a cool space opening beside him. He picked his head up and saw Anthony getting dressed.  
  
"Good morning," Anthony said, pausing to look at him.  
  
"Hrrrnnn?" Sören squinted his eyes against the light coming in, and then he looked at the clock. It was seven AM. "Oh fuck."  
  
Anthony said nothing but continued getting dressed. When he was fully dressed he sat on the edge of the bed and tousled Sören's curls, leaned down to kiss the top of his head. "Shall I heat up what I made last night? Or do you want breakfast instead?"  
  
"Uh... whatever would be easier for you." Sören gave a nervous laugh, feeling terrible that he'd fallen asleep before they could make love, and had slept the rest of the day away, leaving Anthony alone. "Shit, I'm sorry."  
  
"You're overtired, you needed your rest." Anthony tousled his curls again. "I'll be back in a little bit with breakfast in bed, OK?"  
  
"Sounds good, _takk._"  
  
Fourteen hours still wasn't enough, with the kind of schedule Sören had been working. He fell back asleep. Anthony gently shook him awake and said, "Here, love, you need to eat something."  
  
"In a minute." And Sören passed out again.  
  
At last Sören's body woke up on its own. For a good while Sören just lay in bed, not able to move just yet, slowly coming out of that space between waking and sleep. When he finally sat up, his head was pounding, his mouth was painfully dry, and he ached as if he hadn't gotten a massage at all yesterday - laying down for a long time had made him stiff and sore.  
  
Sören needed some coffee and juice to take care of the headache, which he knew was equal parts caffeine withdrawal, dehydration, and low blood sugar. He threw on a T-shirt and boxer-briefs and after he went to the bathroom, which felt like it took forever, he stumbled out to the living room, where Anthony was quietly reading a book. Anthony put the book down on the coffee table when he saw Sören walk in, and for a moment they just looked at each other, not saying anything.  
  
Sören broke the silence. "Hi."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Hi."  
  
"Jæja." Sören looked at the clock - it was almost one-thirty in the afternoon - and then at Anthony. He ran a nervous hand through his curls and rubbed his beard. "Shit. I'm sorry. I'm really -"  
  
Anthony put up a hand. "I told you yesterday. You're overtired, having worked the kind of hours you've been working for so long, not getting enough sleep. Your body needed to catch up." Anthony was looking away as he said it, out the window, at the beach.  
  
"Well, we're gonna have to head back soon, and I feel like I wasted this entire weekend..." Sören sighed. "I feel like I wasted your time."  
  
"I got some quiet time reading." Anthony's voice was quiet as he put a bookmark in the book on the coffee table, closed it, and put it back in his suitcase near the coffee table. "Do you want to go for a walk on the beach before we go? Though maybe we should eat something."  
  
"Yeah, I feel bad that you cooked and I..."  
  
"It's OK, Sören." Anthony quickly got up and before Sören could see any reaction on his face, Anthony's back was turned as he made his way into the kitchen.  
  
Sören sat on the couch and waited as Anthony heated up the leftovers from what he'd made last night and what he'd made this morning. Sören felt even worse because Anthony had actually attempted to cook something more than canned soup and grilled cheese - he'd made Sören jacket potatoes with bacon and mushrooms last night, and a cheese, potato, and mushroom omelette this morning. As good as the food tasted - as sweet as the effort was - there was a bitterness to it, Sören feeling like he didn't deserve it... like he didn't deserve Anthony, feeling like he was the most selfish asshole in the world for having slept all weekend.  
  
Anthony was packing Sören's things as Sören ate, and when Anthony came out with Sören's duffel bag he was all smiles, as if to assure Sören he didn't think any less of him for sleeping. "Are you all done? I'll get your plate..."  
  
"Oh, _elskan_, you cooked, I should wash dishes -"  
  
"You've been burning the candle at both ends, let me wait on you."  
  
As Anthony did dishes, Sören took a shower, brushed his teeth, and got changed, putting on jeans and his Joy Division shirt, with a blue plaid flannel shirt over it. Once they were ready, they went out to the car so Anthony could load the trunk with their belongings, and then they headed out to the beach for one last walk on the beach before they went back to London.  
  
It was sunny today, unlike yesterday, and while it wasn't quite the heat of summer, Sören still felt overdressed in his flannel shirt, enough that halfway into their walk he had to take it off and tie it around his waist. They paused to watch the sunshine sparkle on the waves, standing side by side, and Anthony put an arm around Sören, and Sören leaned on him.  
  
"I love you, _elskan_," Sören said, a lump in his throat, wondering if Anthony had ever had the dream he'd had last night... if Anthony needed that extra reassurance of how very much he was loved. _I don't want to lose you again._  
  
"I love you too, Sören."  
  
Sören stepped away and then in front of him. "You OK?"  
  
Anthony nodded. "Why wouldn't I be?"  
  
"Uh, because we were supposed to come here for some romantic weekend and I slept all fucking weekend, we didn't even make love -"  
  
Anthony pulled Sören close and held him tight. "Sören, I worry about _you_ not being OK." Anthony rocked him a little, petting Sören's curls as Sören's face rested in the crook of Anthony's neck, breathing in his cologne. "You're going through hell right now. I understand." Anthony kissed Sören's brow.  
  
They walked back hand-in-hand, in silence. When they got in the car, Anthony began to drive away in silence... as if in reverence, but for what was the question. Sören felt uneasy, thinking of his dream last night, Anthony inscrutable as he focused on the road, driving into the sunshine, aviator sunglasses hiding his eyes.  
  
"Can you put on some music?" Sören asked.  
  
Anthony nodded. "Any preferences?"  
  
"Classic rock, if you don't mind?" Something sexy like R&B was just going to make Sören feel bad that he'd fallen asleep during the massage.  
  
Anthony put on the classic rock playlist, and when they got onto the highway and the sun burned brighter, "Boys of Summer" by Don Henley came on the playlist.  
  
"Oh, shit." Sören reached out to turn it up. "That's fitting, since it feels like the end of summer now."  
  
Sören had heard this song hundreds of times, but today it felt like he was hearing the song for the first time, and today it felt like the song was directed at him.  
  
_I never will forget those nights  
I wonder if it was a dream  
Remember how you made me crazy  
Remember how I made you scream  
Now I don't understand  
What happened to our love  
But babe I'm gonna get you back  
I'm gonna show you what I'm made of_  
  
Sören thought of all the nights of passion he and Anthony had shared... and in the time before, in their dreams. And how in the end, before, it still hadn't been enough for Anthony to not think he was being cast aside in favor of their brother.  
  
_Out on the road today  
I saw a Deadhead sticker on a Cadillac  
A little voice inside my head said:  
"Don't look back, you can never look back"  
I thought I knew what love was  
What did I know?  
Those days are gone forever  
I should just let them go_  
  
Sören remembered his dream-vision, Anthony walking away into the freezing rain and the fog, never looking back.  
  
He thought of them finding their way back to each other now... the power of their love stronger, fiercer than anything or _anyone_ wanting to keep them apart. And yet, it felt doomed all over again.  
  
_Please._ Sören wasn't a religious man, wasn't a praying man, and here he was, pleading to whatever it was that had brought them back to each other.. and whatever it was that had ripped them apart.


	43. Rain Falls

"Brown Eyes."  
  
Anthony rose from the table in the hospital cafe and held out his arms. As tired as Sören was, he rushed right over, and Anthony stepped forward a few paces, grabbing Sören as soon as he was near and pulling him close, holding him tight. Sören almost sobbed with relief at the feel of Anthony's arms around him, the fortress of his chest, the feel of his heartbeat underneath the Brooks Brothers suit, the breath against his curls.  
  
"Oh, darling." Anthony squeezed Sören and rocked him. "I miss you. I've missed you so much."  
  
Sören swallowed hard, a tight lump in his throat, a tight ache in his chest. It was seven AM now - Anthony had stopped in on his way to chambers - and Sören had been here since seven PM last night. His shift wasn't over yet, he'd performed trauma surgery last night and was performing a tumor excision this morning after his break. He was exhausted and desperately wanted to go home and rest, but of course that wasn't happening yet. Anthony had coffee ready for him, and as soon as they pulled apart - reluctantly - Sören sat down and began gulping it.  
  
"Love, you look worn out," Anthony said.  
  
"I feel worn out." Sören nodded solemnly and drained his coffee. "I feel _burnt_ out." It was October ninth now. He'd been working a hundred hours a week for just over two months. There was still no word on when the National would be getting a replacement for Singh - or if. Sören didn't think he was going to get any considerable time off until their planned honeymoon in November, and even a week didn't feel like a long enough break. Sören thought about their weekend in Brighton last month and he hoped, bitterly, that he wouldn't sleep their entire honeymoon away.  
  
Sören felt a twinge of guilt - he was always so negative lately, and he worried about how it was affecting Anthony, even though Anthony wasn't falling apart in the way that he was. "How are you?" Sören asked.  
  
Anthony nodded. "Not too bad. There's a fraud case I'm being asked to consult on in a couple of weeks and..." Anthony made a face and pinched the bridge of his nose, then took a sip of his coffee. "Sometimes I really regret getting into this profession. Too many sleazy people in the world."  
  
"I know. But you fight for the innocent. You told me that when we first met."  
  
"Yeah. I know. Just like you fight to save lives."  
  
Sören grimaced. _Right now I wish the life I was saving was my own._ "We have to keep reminding each other of that, I think."  
  
Anthony reached out, took Sören's hands across the table, and squeezed. "You get it. You know what it's like to have a calling, even when it makes you question your own sanity." He kissed Sören's hands.  
  
It had been that sense of purpose, that sense of destiny, that in the world of Sören's dreams had ultimately been responsible for destroying his relationship with Anthony back then, necessitating their parting of ways - and then his other brother-lover, who he thought hated him as he rode to his death. Sören had been a revolutionary then, fighting to overthrow a tyrant and those who made the tyrant what he was... he had looked into the abyss and the abyss had looked back into him, as he became angrier and angrier. Now Sören was fighting against death itself, and it seemed the harder he fought, the more life was being drained out of him. The more his fire, that had kept him going through the darkest nights of his soul, was close to going out.  
  
He would not lose Anthony again. And he would not fall apart, would not break down and cry, when his day wasn't done yet. "You want to go for a walk? Get some air?"  
  
Anthony and Sören went to Queen's Square. It was overcast with a chance of rain later in the day, and Sören could smell the petrichor in the air. Growing up in Akureyri, where it rained so often, Sören loved the smell of petrichor, one of his favorite scents. Sören breathed it in now, letting it soothe him, and the beauty of the silver light as they walked around the garden, hand-in-hand. They sat on the steps of St. George's Cathedral and leaned on each other, watching two ravens peck around a few meters away. Every now and again one of the ravens would look up and look at them and just stare for a few seconds before going back to what it was doing, and Sören broke out into gooseflesh. If he were not a doctor, a rational, skeptical person by nature, he would think the ravens were watching them for some reason, but that felt ridiculous.  
  
It was nice to just _be_ in these moments, no need for words, just resting together in the beauty of their surroundings. It was one of the things Sören liked about his relationship with Anthony. Anthony got that need for quiet and for being out someplace pretty. Sören wished they did it more often - he once again felt a sting of bitterness that the disastrous picnic with Trisha and Vincente hadn't been their first time, or only time, having a picnic. He was hoping that when relief finally came and he was back to less crazy hours, he and Anthony could do things like that on their own. And he realized he was being negative again, and wished he didn't have bitterness creep in every time he took a moment to breathe.  
  
When it was time for Sören to go back to work, he and Anthony lingered in the lobby, holding each other tight, not wanting to let go. Sören almost cried when he finally stepped away, aching, wishing they could keep holding each other. And as nice as the visit was, seeing Anthony for an hour - being in Anthony's arms - was somehow worse than not seeing him at all. It made him ache for what he was missing, a sharp reminder of how little they'd been able to see each other since this madness started.  
  
Sören tried to pull himself together as he scrubbed in, letting the water ground him, taking deep breaths, getting in "the zone". But as he stepped back into the operating theatre, there was a lingering sadness, a _haunted_ feeling he couldn't shake.  
  
Sören was used to having rock music playing when he did surgery, and now as he performed the tumor extraction it was necessary - his episodes of microsleeping terrified him, and he didn't want to have an episode while he had a patient on the operating table, even though he'd fallen asleep to rock music on the train once and he hadn't fallen asleep during surgery yet. Sören put on the playlist that was as hard as he could get away with, which had a lot of Metallica as well as music from the grunge era. He thought of Anthony again as one particular song played, by Alice In Chains.  
  
_Into the flood again  
Same old trip it was back then  
So I made a big mistake  
Try to see it once my way  
  
Am I wrong?  
Have I run too far to get home?  
Have I gone?  
And left you here alone?_  
  
"You OK, mate?" Colin looked across at him, eyes concerned above the mask.  
  
Sören nodded. "I'm OK." _Not really._  
  
Colin raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything further about his concern.  
  
Sören got through the surgery with no problems, and as he scrubbed out he took a moment to be grateful that it had gone well. But where he used to have a warm glow of pride at another successful job, and a moment of hope for the patient's recovery - almost like a prayer - there was the return of bitterness. He was resenting his job, _almost_ wishing he hadn't gone into this line of work, and for the dozenth or so time he thought about marching down to Ed's office and telling Ed he needed fewer hours, even though he knew that would cost him and quite possibly kill his career.  
  
Sören splashed some water on his face and sighed deeply, rocking back on his heels, slumping his shoulders.  
  
He didn't go to Ed - he knew he wouldn't go to Ed, however many times he thought about it - and it was time for him to go home, anyway, now a little after one PM. He walked to the train station, feeling more and more drained with each step. The overground was coming before the subway, and once Sören took his seat he put in his earbuds and turned up the music full blast. Nine Inch Nails was on his playlist, and "We're In This Together" had never felt more appropriate than it did today.  
  
_I've become impossible holding on to when  
When everything seemed to matter more  
The two of us  
All used and beaten up  
Watching fate as it flow down the path we  
Have chose  
  
You and me  
We're in this together now  
None of them can stop us now  
We will make it through somehow  
You and me  
If the world should break in two  
Until the very end of me  
Until the very end of you  
  
Awake to the sound as they peel apart the skin  
They pick and they pull  
Trying to get their fingers in  
Well they've got to kill what we've found  
Well they've got to hate what we fear  
Well they've got to make it go away  
Well they've got to make it disappear  
  
The farther I fall I'm beside you  
As lost as I get I will find you  
The deeper the wound I'm inside you  
For ever and ever I'm a part of  
  
You and me  
We're in this together now  
None of them can stop us now  
We will make it through somehow  
You and me  
If the world should break in two  
Until the very end of me  
Until the very end of you  
  
All that we were is gone we have to hold on  
All that we were is gone we have to hold on  
When all our hope is gone we have to hold on  
All that we were is gone but we can hold on_  
  
Sören thought of Anthony, the hugs this morning, the cuddling together on the steps of the cathedral. He thought of the dreams that had been haunting him, of making Anthony leave "back then". His fists clenched, determined to hang on to what he had.  
  
Then another Nine Inch Nails song came on.  
  
_You let me violate you  
You let me desecrate you  
You let me penetrate you  
You let me complicate you  
  
Help me  
I broke apart my insides  
Help me  
I've got no soul to sell  
Help me  
The only thing that works for me  
Help me get away from myself  
  
I want to fuck you like an animal  
I want to feel you from the inside  
I want to fuck you like an animal  
My whole existence is flawed  
You get me closer to god  
  
You can have my isolation  
You can have the hate that it brings  
You can have my absence of faith  
You can have my everything  
  
Help me  
Tear down my reason  
Help me  
It's your sex I can smell  
Help me  
You make me perfect  
Help me become somebody else  
  
I want to fuck you like an animal  
I want to feel you from the inside  
I want to fuck you like an animal  
My whole existence is flawed  
You get me closer to god_  
  
Sören was half-hard by the time he got off the train, and despite his fatigue he hurried home from the station, both because it was starting to rain, and also because he didn't want passerby to see his tented scrubs. All the way home his mind kept replaying memories of he and Anthony making passionate love together. It had been over a month since their last time and Sören _wanted_. He felt like a starving man thinking of food. There was an ache in him, that could only be filled by being one with his mate, climbing the heights of passion again.  
  
Sören still had a few hours before Anthony would be getting home. He would have to go into work at three AM, and he did the mental math around how to make this happen. Sören took a shower and then he got in bed, naked, and set the alarm for fifteen minutes before Anthony was set to get home, giving himself enough time to wake up before Anthony got in the door. He'd take a nap now, and he'd do the rest of his sleep later. Sören was still horny when he got in bed - if anything, he was hornier from having been naked in the shower, the touch of his hand as he lathered himself - but he knew if he brought himself off now, he might lose his motivation for later. And even as his body screamed as he lay there, pent-up, wanting release, he managed to tumble off into sleep, to the sound of the rain against the window.  
  
For once the blare of the alarm wasn't unwelcome. Sören flew out of bed, splashed some cold water on his face, and then, on a whim, he put in the buttplug that he hadn't worn in months. Sören paced around, waiting, the buttplug teasing him with every step. As soon as Sören heard Anthony's Audi pull in his heart began racing with anticipation - Sören smiled, knowing if he were a dog or a cat his tail would be wagging right now. He was practically panting as he heard Anthony come up the steps, cock throbbing, wanting.  
  
Anthony stepped inside, and Sören stepped out from the kitchen. For a moment they just looked at each other - Anthony in his suit, and Sören completely naked, erect. Then Sören fell on him, kissing him hard, slamming him up against the wall. Anthony moaned into the kiss and his hands slid over Sören's naked body - Sören smiled into the kiss as he felt Anthony's hands tremble, felt that shiver go through his lover. Anthony's breath hitched as they pulled apart, and then Sören came closer and kissed him harder. Their tongues played together, teasing, and Sören sucked Anthony's lower lip between his, nibbled on it, before Sören dropped to his knees, reaching to undo his trousers.  
  
Sören smiled at the erect cock once it was freed, and looked up at Anthony. "Yes?"  
  
"_God_ yes."  
  
Sören swallowed it down, hungry, needy. His own cock jolted at the little cry Anthony gave as Sören's mouth wrapped around him. Sören sucked hard and fast, his own cock throbbing, reveling in every gasp and sigh and groan, the way Anthony shuddered and panted, the look of heat in his eyes, that look of being completely lost in pleasure as Sören serviced him. Sören sucked and sucked, loving it - he'd missed this so much. And as greedy as Sören was, as needy as they both were, Sören still couldn't resist teasing him a little, pulling Anthony's cock out of his mouth to lick it, looking up at Anthony to let him see how much he was enjoying this, the look of happiness and worship on his face as his tongue swirled around the head, lashed the slit and the frenulum, licked up and down the shaft. Slow, lazy, languid strokes, and then harder, faster, bathing it. Anthony's moans got louder and Sören reached to cup his balls, gently playing with them, teasing him even more.  
  
At last Sören took the cock back in his mouth and Anthony grabbed his curls, gently thrusting. When Anthony gave another little cry and shivered, Sören knew he was getting close, could feel the balls tightening in his hand. Sören worked his tongue as he sucked and made "mmmmmm" sounds, encouraging him. Soon Anthony was gasping, trembling, and their eyes met and Sören saw that needy look in his eyes and Sören narrowed his own, challenging him. Sören sucked harder, faster, and Anthony's breath hitched and he moaned, "Sören, I'm..."  
  
"Mmmmmmmmmm."  
  
"Oh god." And then Anthony gave that shuddery gasp Sören loved, knees buckling, sliding against the wall a little as he spent into Sören's mouth.  
  
Sören loved the taste of him, and he loved it when there was so much of it that it spilled out the corners of his mouth, feeling utterly debauched. Sören swallowed it down and licked his lips, savoring. He was so turned on by the act of sucking Anthony off and watching him come - listening to him come - that Sören almost came too, and now as Anthony helped him up and kissed him, Sören's cock was almost painfully hard, dripping precum in a puddle on the floor.  
  
Anthony reached down for Sören's cock, slowly stroking it. "Shall we take care of this?"  
  
Sören just nodded, not able to make words. He giggled, and Anthony laughed too.  
  
Anthony gave him another kiss - soft and sweet - and then Anthony picked him up off the floor, threw Sören over his shoulder, and carried him caveman-style to the bedroom, as Sören laughed at the vehemence of it. Anthony put Sören down on the bed and Sören watched him undress, stroking himself at the show, cock throbbing even more at the sight of Anthony getting naked. _God, he's beautiful._  
  
As soon as Anthony was completely undressed, he climbed on the bed and over Sören, a feral look in his eye that made Sören shiver, cock throbbing, hole twitching around the plug inside him. Sören lay back against the pillows and Anthony claimed his mouth fiercely, roughly, then trailed kisses down Sören's throat, sucked a nipple hard, tongue lashing it fast, suckling again, harder, giving the same attention to the other nipple, then he licked from Sören's chest down his stomach, to the hard cock ready and waiting for him. Anthony paused a moment over Sören's bush, breathing in the scent of him, rubbing his nose in it - Sören loved that, and clutched at him, feverish.  
  
Then Anthony took Sören's cock in his mouth and their eyes met, Anthony studying Sören's reaction as he swallowed it inch by inch. That moment of feeling Anthony's mouth around him was so good Sören almost cried - so good he almost came right then.  
  
It didn't take long for Sören to be undone, as long as he'd been without, and as much as he was turned on by having sucked Anthony to climax... and as much as Anthony got into it, murmuring his own pleasure as he sucked, reaching down to stroke himself as he sucked Sören hungrily, greedily, rubbing his tongue as he sucked, knowing exactly how Sören liked it. He took Sören's cock out of his mouth for a moment, teeth tugging on the captive bead ring in the head of Sören's cock, making Sören gasp, tongue teasing the foreskin, lashing the prominent frenulum fast then slow. He sucked on just the head, working his tongue, kissing it, making Sören writhe, grasping the headboard, out of his mind with sensation. Then his cock was in Anthony's mouth again, gliding back and forth, in and out, Anthony's mouth fucking him, as good as anything had ever felt. The tension built higher and higher until Sören's thighs were quivering, and when he was at that point of no return Anthony's free hand began gently rubbing his balls and the root of the shaft. Sören heard himself make an inhuman, guttural noise as he let go, shooting and shooting. Anthony groaned as he tasted Sören, and Sören watched him swallow and then lick Sören clean, getting every last drop until Sören had to push him off, laughing, too sensitive.  
  
Anthony came up to kiss him and pulled Sören close. Sören could feel Anthony was hard again - he knew that turned Anthony on as much as sucking Anthony had turned Sören on - but Sören needed a few minutes to recharge, and that was fine... they snuggled together, Anthony petting him.  
  
Finally Sören's fingers walked down Anthony's chest and stomach, down a hip and thigh, over to Anthony's cock. "We should do something about this."  
  
"Hmmmm, I wonder what." Anthony stroked his chin, pretending to look thoughtful.  
  
Sören had put in the buttplug in anticipation of getting fucked, and he still wanted that, but first he wanted to take Anthony, wanted to _fuck_, wanted to pound out all of his frustration and stress. Sören took both their cocks in his fist and the feel of Anthony's cock against his brought Sören to full erection quickly. Sören got even harder as Anthony began kissing his neck, his shoulder, kissed his way down to Sören's nipples, tongue lashing, knowing exactly how to tease him. Sören reached for the lube on their bedtable and Anthony moaned as he watched Sören pour lube over their cocks, then over his free hand. Sören kissed him deeply as he reached around from behind and pushed slick fingers into Anthony's passage, and Anthony moaned and bucked against him as Sören found that spot right away, rubbing.  
  
The feel of Anthony wrapped around his fingers made Sören even crazier. He needed it more than he had ever needed anything in his life. Sören kissed Anthony's neck, nibbled, growled. When Anthony began to rock against Sören's fingers in and out of him, fucking himself, Sören knew he was ready. Sören gave him a deep, hungry kiss, and smiled as he watched Anthony grab a pillow and slip it under him.  
  
Sören brought the tip of his cock to Anthony's passage and put in just the tip, in and out, teasing them both until Anthony clutched at him and gasped out, "_Please._" Just the shuddering, breathless urgency in that one word, the look in Anthony's eyes, threatened to set Sören off right there. Sören took a deep breath, and with his hands sliding over Anthony's chest and stomach, he began to slide in, inch by inch. Anthony groaned deeply, and he winced a little - he was so tight, it had been too long for them - but he kept pushing out around Sören, which helped, and at last Sören was all the way inside and they looked into each other's eyes, a look of relief and happiness on Anthony's face when they were joined in full. Sören smiled tenderly at him and stroked Anthony's face, his hair.  
  
"I love you," Sören said.  
  
"I love you."  
  
Sören went slowly at first, both because of how tight Anthony was, and because the tight, hot silken grip around his cock was too delicious, and Sören didn't want to come too soon. But soon enough Anthony was rolling his hips back at Sören, grabbing Sören's hips, panting, and Sören couldn't hold back his lust anymore. He grabbed a hold of Anthony's legs, propping them on his shoulders, and he began to slam into him, fast and furious. Anthony's nails raked Sören's chest and he pinched Sören's nipples hard, crying out, "Oh, god, _yes_," which Sören answered with a growl, driving into him even faster.  
  
The next few minutes were wild, savage, as Sören pounded him and Anthony gave back as good as he got, hips rocking back at him, Anthony's moans and gasps met by Sören's grunts and growls, Sören's balls slapping against him as he took what he wanted, claimed what was his. This was exactly what Sören needed, letting out all of his aggression, his madness, losing himself in the beauty of Anthony in the throes of passion, losing himself in the sensation, the pleasure, losing himself in the need to please his mate, to give Anthony what he also needed, craved, had been aching for. Sören trembled at the feel of Anthony's nails grazing his skin, giving him gooseflesh, every touch close to sending him over the edge and he kept holding back, holding back, wanting Anthony's release first.  
  
Sören knew he was right there when Anthony couldn't moan or cry out anymore, just gasp, looking almost like he was in pain, that desperate look in his eye. Sören reached for Anthony's cock, dripping precum over his hand, and began to stroke in time with their thrusts, eyes locked with Anthony's. Then Anthony let out a little sob as his cock pulsed in Sören's hand and Sören growled, pleased with his work. "Come for me, _elskan,_" Sören commanded.  
  
"Oh god, Sören." Anthony shivered as his cock sprayed over Sören's chest and stomach. Sören groaned at the sight and feel of the hot seed on his skin. Anthony threw back his head and cried out, "_Sören!_" as he shuddered again and his cock spent another round.  
  
Two thrusts and Sören took his own release, calling out "_Elskan min,_" as his cock throbbed and throbbed, as his entire body tingled and sang with the ecstasy flooding him. Sören collapsed onto Anthony's chest, and they kissed deeply, Anthony's arms tight around him.  
  
"God, that was amazing." Anthony laughed and gave Sören a squeeze.  
  
"I got so horny for you on the train," Sören confessed. "I set the alarm so I could just..."  
  
"Wow." Anthony looked a little stunned, but pleased. "Well, it was a very pleasant surprise."  
  
They lay there, gently petting, giving each other soft, sweet little kisses. They weren't quite done yet, as the kisses deepened, and soon enough Sören was hard again - despite all of his exhaustion lately. Anthony chuckled at the sight of Sören's erection, reaching down to play with it.  
  
"You're insatiable," Anthony said.  
  
"It's been too long," Sören said.  
  
Anthony sighed, and nodded. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but Sören could see the sadness on his face and Sören felt destroyed inside almost as much as when he'd slept their entire weekend in Brighton away. They had been used to having such a regular, passionate sex life, and this drought had been hard enough for Sören, feeling touch-starved, but he imagined it was even worse for Anthony, who wasn't working a hundred hours a week and getting too tired, too numb to care. Sören felt like a shitty partner, once again had that feeling like he didn't deserve Anthony.  
  
But he didn't want to kill the mood. And Anthony knew to lighten it a little, giving Sören a kiss. "I still can't believe you planned this," Anthony said, laughing.  
  
"I was on a mission." Sören smirked. "A crusade, even." Sören grasped at levity, needing to push the feeling of guilt away as quickly as he could before it killed his erection and made things even worse. "A caped crusader, just... without a cape. Or any clothes at all."  
  
"So what, you're Batman?" And then Anthony laughed harder, remembering their joke from awhile back. "Leðurblöbörkbörkbörkhurrdurriblorpflerpflarp?"  
  
Sören doubled over, sides hurting, face hurting. "Leðurblökumaðurinn."  
  
"And this..." Anthony gave Sören's erection a gentle tug. "This is... the Bat Signal?"  
  
"The Leðurblaka Signal."  
  
When they calmed down from their hysterics, Anthony kissed the tip of Sören's nose and said, "I love you, IKEA."  
  
"I love you too, _elskan._"  
  
"So you want to go again?"  
  
"Mhm. And, when I was getting ready for you, I, ah..." Sören rolled away and got on his hands and knees, showing Anthony the plug inside him. "Here's an IKEA product."  
  
Anthony started laughing again, and then he slapped Sören's ass. "Terrible."  
  
"_Takk._"  
  
Anthony pulled out the plug and then he dove down, and Sören cried out at the feel of Anthony's tongue inside him. He was all cleaned out and still fresh from the shower, and Anthony ate him like he was starving for it, tongue fucking that sweet spot inside him, then rubbing more slowly, teasing it, making Sören howl and pant and tremble, fists grabbing the pillows, white-knuckled. When Anthony's tongue sped up again Sören rocked his hips, fucking himself on Anthony's tongue, not able to help it. "_Elskan. Elskan_, oh god, that's so good, _það er svo fokking gott, fokk mér með þá tungu_..."  
  
Anthony groaned into him and kept kissing, licking, until Sören was almost sobbing, shaking with need, going out of his mind. Anthony patted Sören's ass as he pulled back, and Sören got up and they were both in a semi-sitting position and Anthony started kissing Sören's neck. "How do you want it?" Anthony rasped.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
They laughed, and then Anthony lay back against the pillows, looking up at Sören expectantly. Sören smiled as he straddled Anthony's hips, and Anthony guided his cock to Sören's opening and Sören began to sink down. Sören was at least as tight as Anthony had been, but once he got past the initial shock of being stretched, the feeling of being filled was comforting, even exhilarating. Nothing felt so _right_ as when they were one inside the other like this, joined. All of their troubles went away, nothing else mattered. Just this. Just them.  
  
Just the need in them, fire calling to fire.  
  
Sören began to ride, keeping it slow at first to get adjusted to the cock inside him. Anthony watched Sören taking his cock, watching his cock slide in and out, watched Sören's hips roll, the fluid grace of his body. Anthony's hands caressed Sören's shoulders and arms and chest and stomach and hips and thighs, and his touch made it even better, intensifying the pleasure of Anthony's cock rubbing that magic place inside him. Soon Sören was riding harder, faster, Anthony's hands continuing to explore Sören's body, and Sören's own hands reached to touch every part of Anthony that he could, admiring the perfection of him, savoring the feel of him, seeing as much with his hands as with his eyes.  
  
The rain was falling harder outside, really pouring, seeming to mirror the storm of their passion, Sören riding him harder until he was bouncing, holding onto Anthony for dear life as Anthony rocked into him, making him work for it. One of Anthony's hands was on Sören's cock now, stroking madly, and the other hand was playing with Sören's nipples, rubbing, plucking, pinching, tugging on the rings, every so often sliding up to stroke Sören's face, his beard, trace his lips. Sören saw - and felt - his cock dripping precum all over Anthony's hand, and when Sören was so close, so close, _right there_, Anthony let go of Sören's cock for a moment to stick his precum-slick fingers in Sören's mouth. Sören sucked Anthony's fingers as Anthony's other hand played over his nipples and his stomach, and Sören rode as hard as he could, the rhythm on his prostate sending him into a frenzy. As badly as he wanted to come, this moment of pure lust and sensation, where all that existed was their fuck, was so good Sören never wanted it to end.  
  
Anthony rose up a little, hand back on Sören's cock, his other arm encircling Sören, embracing him, cozy and safe. Anthony pulled Sören down and leaned up to kiss Sören's heart, then up his neck, trailing kisses along Sören's jaw.  
  
"Come, my love," Anthony whispered, and crushed Sören's mouth to his.  
  
Sören screamed into the kiss, the pleasure shattering him, the powerful contractions inside him and throbbing through him, so intense it almost hurt, but so good, joy and relief and awe making him laugh and cry at the same time. "Anthony," Sören breathed, and kissed him back, harder.  
  
Anthony groaned into the kiss as Sören felt his molten flow, felt Anthony tremble against him. Anthony grabbed onto Sören tight as he shivered, pulled back from the kiss to gasp for breath, and the look of love and bliss on his face was so lovely it brought tears to Sören's eyes, made Sören want to paint him just like this, preserving the moment forever.  
  
They sank back and Sören listened to Anthony's heartbeat, listened to the rain. Anthony pet Sören's curls, rubbed his shoulders and back. For a long time there was no need for words, and at last Anthony said, simply, "I love you."  
  
"I love you." Sören snuggled into the crook of his neck and shoulder, and Anthony's arms tightened around him.  
  
As stressed as Sören had been, as scared as he was of their relationship getting to the breaking point with these hours and the fallout of his exhaustion, it all washed away to the sound of the rain, the feeling of closeness as they lay there together.  
  
"You are all that exists," Sören whispered. "You are all I want to know."  
  
  
_  
  
  
The next day Sören went into work at three AM, and though for once he'd gotten a decent amount of sleep he still had lingering exhaustion from weeks of not enough sleep, and now his body was well-used on top of that, making him move gingerly throughout the day, hoping none of his colleagues noticed and put two and two together as to what he'd been up to.  
  
When Anthony came to pick Sören up in the evening and they got home, Sören noticed Anthony was also walking a little funny, and it went without saying that they would both need at least a night to recharge from their romp last night. Sören still couldn't believe how horny he'd been - how insatiable he'd been, finding his strength after running on fumes, enough for three orgasms. The good loving from last night seemed to ease the tension between them, cuddling together when it was time to go to bed, before they got to sleep.  
  
The following day, Sören's bitterness returned, if anything even stronger for a day of reprieve, like it had been worse to have a good night with his husband-to-be and feeling "back to normal" for a brief while, than if they'd kept going without. Sören was in a foul mood at work and though he tried to keep his usual warm bedside manner with his patients, Colin and Pamela and Ed all seemed to know something was off and kept asking him if he was OK. Elise Hansen finally asked if he was OK as their paths crossed on Sören's way to look at MRI results, and Sören snapped, "I'm fucking _fine_, Jesus fucking _Christ._"  
  
Elise took a step back, jaw open, blue eyes wide.  
  
Sören gasped, realizing he'd lashed out at her and she'd done nothing wrong, she'd just asked if he was OK out of polite concern. And of course, Sören's resentment that she wasn't on the same crazy schedule because of her personal life - while his own relationship was strained - had kicked in.  
  
"Oh god. I'm sorry," Sören said, face burning with shame, eyes stinging with unshed tears. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, Elise. I..." He swallowed hard and looked down at his shoes. "I'm overtired. I..." He looked up, and away from her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."  
  
Elise took a step towards him and gently patted his shoulder, as if he were one of her children throwing a temper tantrum - and that made him even angrier, but he kept his anger in check, not wanting to make her feel worse... not wanting to be unprofessional and risk his job. "I understand, Sören. I had a moment like that years ago when I was working a hundred hours a week. It happens."  
  
Sören needed to apologize again - this time with feeling, in Elise's native language of Danish, his third language. "_Jeg er virkelig ked af det. Jeg var en røv, det fortjente du ikke._"  
  
"_Du behøver ikke fortsætte med at undskylde_." Elise patted him again, and then she switched back to English. "You'll be OK. Go get some coffee or something."  
  
Sören stopped in the break room after he looked at the MRI scans, but coffee didn't really help, especially when he wasn't alone and there were other doctors and nurses in there, staring at him as he chugged three cups of horrible coffee to stay awake. Sören felt like screaming _what is everyone fucking looking at_, but he didn't, he just kept chugging his coffee, glaring back at them.  
  
He was never so happy in his life to be out of there when his shift ended, never so happy to see Anthony, hugging him tight as he got in the car.  
  
That relief changed to annoyance once they got home and Anthony immediately set to work making tea, not washing his hands first.  
  
"Anthony, I have told you five hundred times now, wash your hands as soon as you get home, before you touch anything in the kitchen. _Jesus._"  
  
Anthony gave Sören a withering look, but he did as he was told. And yet, the _vehemence_ of it made Sören feel even more irritated.  
  
"You shouldn't have to be told this," Sören said.  
  
"Pardon me for forgetting. I'm not a surgeon, this isn't second nature to me like it is to you."  
  
"You're able to remember tiny little details about so many other things, and you forget to wash your hands when we get home? _Really?_ You're not just doing it to piss me off?"  
  
"What would be the point in trying to aggravate you even more than you're already aggravated?" Anthony raised an eyebrow. He shook his head and made a noise of disgust. "Yes, Sören, sometimes I forget little things like this. I told you that before."  
  
Sören immediately felt guilty - and once again wondered if Anthony had ADHD - but he kept that thought to himself.  
  
Tea seemed to relax them both, and Sören relaxed further as he took out his tablet and began to work as Anthony watched BBC News. Sören was just starting to add color to the scene he'd sketched from his dreams - or more accurately, nightmares - of the last time he saw Anthony in the "time before", his back turned as other-Anthony walked away from him into the freezing rain. And then he stopped relaxing, as he started seeing the scene in his mind's eye again, started _feeling._  
  
_Everything is fucked,_ Sören thought to himself as he brought the sketch to life with color, watching the stylus glide over the screen. _Everything is completely fucked._  
  
Anthony seemed to notice the change in him and came over to sit on the other side of Sören on the couch - not looking over at the tablet, since he knew Sören was touchy about him seeing a work in progress, especially this one. He grabbed one of Sören's legs, put it on his lap, and started to rub Sören's foot. Sören sighed and found himself moving the stylus more slowly as he melted into Anthony's magic touch, fingers kneading, rolling, soothing.  
  
"Would you like to go out to dinner?" Anthony asked. "Anything you want. Thought it would be nice for us to get out for awhile, get some air, go to dinner, maybe a walk in the park..."  
  
Sören exhaled sharply. He wanted to say yes, but he was tired, and he was tired enough that he worried about having another episode in public, snapping at Anthony, or some random stranger and causing an incident. He felt too keyed up, too dangerous.  
  
Art was safer. Art was his refuge, his hiding place. Sören remembered "the time before", hiding out in his forge when he felt stung by the world - stung by their father, stung by his wife years later. Too sensitive, not wanting others to see... putting all that emotion into his work, like he was doing now with the painting on the tablet.  
  
"No," Sören said.  
  
He immediately felt bad for such a curt answer, felt like he should quantify it somehow, but no words would come. And Anthony sat with it for a moment and finally he nodded and said, "OK."  
  
Anthony continued to rub Sören's feet, his expression neutral. Sören wondered if the refusal was bothering him - he still felt guilty for saying no. But before Sören could get up enough nerve to ask, Anthony got up, gave Sören a tight smile, and went to the kitchen. Sören watched Anthony wash his hands, and then start rummaging around in the fridge. Soon, Anthony was cooking.  
  
Anthony was not the crap cook he feared he'd be - he made a good stir-fry with chicken and vegetables, good enough that Sören had seconds. When they were finished eating Sören gave him a little kiss. "My compliments to the chef."  
  
Anthony smiled shyly. "I tried."  
  
"You did, and I appreciate it." Sören stroked Anthony's face.  
  
When it was time for bed, Anthony began kissing Sören's neck and rubbing against him, looking for a repeat of the passion they had shared two days ago. Sören felt a touch of anger, wondering if Anthony had cooked out of the goodness of his heart - as the right thing to do, because his partner was too exhausted to cook himself, and sick of takeaway - or if Anthony did it because he wanted to get laid. He also felt guilty, because he wanted to please Anthony - and he felt resentful of his schedule and how much that had stolen his life. He wanted to at least try to make love and help things get at least a little bit back to normal between them, so he returned Anthony's kisses and caresses.  
  
But it became apparent several minutes in that Sören's cock was not responding, as good as everything felt. Sören was exhausted and just wanted to sleep, and his body didn't lie. Anthony finally stopped and lay there, staring up at the ceiling, looking disappointed.  
  
"I'm sorry," Sören said. _This is my life now, apologizing constantly._  
  
"It's OK." Anthony patted him.  
  
"No, it's not OK." Sören sighed. He felt even guiltier now. "Let me take care of you, at least. Don't want you to get blue balls."  
  
Anthony was still erect, and Sören palmed the hard cock through Anthony's pajama bottoms, rubbing in gentle circles as he kissed Anthony's neck. At last he freed Anthony's cock. Sören thought about going down and giving him a blowjob, but Sören was so tired and achy from work that he just wanted to lay there and not move any more than necessary. So he reached out, took Anthony's cock in his hand, and began to stroke.  
  
A few minutes later Anthony was undone, moaning, closing his eyes as he climaxed, spilling over Sören's hand. _Thank god that's over,_ Sören thought to himself, and immediately felt terrible for thinking it. He didn't hate giving him a handjob, and he wished he was feeling awake and revved up enough for sex, but Sören just wanted to sleep, and within a few minutes of Anthony's release, Sören passed out.  
  
Sören woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of rain and a cool empty space in the bed. This wasn't in and of itself unusual - he and Anthony sometimes got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom - but there were no sounds in the bathroom, and when Sören listened he heard Anthony pacing up and down the hallway. When Anthony walked by the bedroom door there was a glow in the hallway, and when Sören's eyes adjusted he saw Anthony was texting on his cell phone.  
  
"Anthony, what are you doing? Come to bed."  
  
Anthony lingered for a few seconds, finishing up whatever he was doing, and then he turned off his cell phone and got back in bed with Sören. "Sorry," he said. "I got a text from work."  
  
"At this hour?"  
  
"Sometimes clients have questions." Anthony gave a nervous little laugh and kissed Sören's cheek, then Anthony rolled against him, the "big spoon" against Sören's back.  
  
For all that Sören worked a ridiculous schedule, he was glad that his patients didn't text him in the middle of the night. "Night, _elskan,_" Sören said, patting Anthony's hands before the rain lulled him back to sleep.


	44. Learn To Swim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap! This story has been a real... journey... and I'd like to thank everyone who's been reading, leaving kudos, and/or commenting.
> 
> The sequel to this story is _[Broken Wings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24481624/chapters/59090431)_, which I hope you'll enjoy.

Sören was on his way to a pre-surgery consult, and washing his hands. He'd come into work with a headache and body aches, feeling even more tired than usual, which he'd chalked up to not getting enough rest lately because of his schedule. And now, a mighty sneeze came on. He reached for the paper towels just in time, sneezing violently into a wad. One, two, three sneezes. Sören snuffled and groaned.  
  
Ed was right there when it happened and he gave Sören a disapproving look. "Sigurðsson, go home."  
  
Sören made a little disgruntled noise, not wanting to leave them short-handed.  
  
Ed shook his head, firm in his stance. "No offense, but you look like shit, your eyes are all glassy. You're probably sick, I don't want you getting everyone else sick. Go home. And if you're sick, take a few days if you need them."  
  
Sören had a flu shot earlier that month, but he also knew it wasn't a hundred percent effective, and he knew if he was sick, Ed was right - the last thing patients recovering from surgery needed was to be exposed to a cold or flu.  
  
It was a gloomy late October day - Wednesday, the twenty-third of October - as Sören went to the train station, looking like it was going to rain anytime now. The weather seemed to match his grumpy mood; as badly as Sören needed time off, he didn't want it to be under these circumstances. Sören wore a mask and gloves on the train to be on the safe side and sure enough, as he waited for the train he started to have chills, like someone had turned on the air conditioning in the train, even though he knew that wasn't so. He also felt even more exhausted, just the simple act of walking to the station and boarding the train made him ready to keel over. In an attempt to keep himself awake and not have another incident of falling asleep on the train, Sören put in his earbuds and his metal playlist. He leaned back and kept his eye on the stops as Tool played.  
  
_'Cause I'm praying for rain  
I'm praying for tidal waves  
I wanna see the ground give way.  
I wanna watch it all go down.  
  
Mom, please flush it all away.  
I wanna see it go right in and down.  
I wanna watch it go right in.  
Watch you flush it all away.  
  
Time to bring it down again.  
Don't just call me pessimist.  
Try and read between the lines.  
And I can't imagine why you wouldn't welcome any change, my friend.  
  
I wanna see it come down.  
Bring it down  
Suck it down.  
Flush it down._  
  
  
The walk back from the station was miserable. It was raining now. Sören still had chills, his head was pounding, and his nose was running underneath the mask. _Hot tea,_ he told himself. It became a mantra to keep him going, the promise of the reward once he got to the flat. _Hot tea and a blanket. Hot tea and a blanket..._  
  
Sören made a little noise of surprise under the mask when he saw Anthony's Audi outside the house. It wasn't time for Anthony to get out of work yet, and Sören wondered if Anthony was sick too. "Shit," Sören muttered, remembering when they had flu together a year ago. Being sick on his own would be bad enough, but both of them being sick was going to be even less fun. Nonetheless, the doctor instinct in Sören kicked in and he found himself walking faster, wanting to check on Anthony, make sure he was all right.  
  
Sören heard moaning as he came up the stairs. _Oh god, he really must not be feeling well._ Sören rushed, even though his asthma protested. He opened the door and the moaning was louder now that he was there in the flat. Sören took off his mask and gloves, washed his hands, and hurried down to the bedroom. "Anthony, I'm here. Anthony -"  
  
Sören was just in time to witness Anthony on the bed, naked, shuddering and gasping in the throes of climax... coming in the mouth of another man. Young. Blonde. Blue eyes meeting his, widening with surprise, then narrowing with mockery as the lips smiled around Anthony's cock, seed spilling out the corners of the pretty mouth.  
  
Sören stood there for a few seconds just shocked, and then he heard himself make a hysterical keening noise, and Anthony sat up with a gasp. He looked at Sören, eyes wide with panic. "Oh shit. Sören..."  
  
The guy who'd been giving him a blowjob swallowed, and also sat up, smiling. "Hello," the younger guy said. "Nice to meet you." He had a pleasant, public-school educated voice.  
  
Not thinking, just feeling, Sören strode to the bed and backhanded the other man as hard as he could. The younger man held his face after he'd been hit, and then Sören turned to look at Anthony, feeling the rage rising in him - rage and grief. All Sören had wanted was to come home and rest, hot tea and a blanket, and instead his entire life was falling apart, had come undone within a couple of minutes. "You," Sören said, his voice shaking. His entire body was shaking now. He pointed at Anthony and then he just pointed-pointed-pointed, hand trembling, breath coming out in little gasps. "You. _You..._"  
  
"Sören." Anthony looked up at him with tears in his eyes. "Sören, I'm sorry. Sören, I'm -"  
  
"_Shut up._" Sören fought the urge to backhand him, too. "I don't want to hear anything out of that filthy _fucking_ mouth of yours right now." Sören turned to the other man, who was watching all of this with what looked like amusement. "Not as filthy as yours, however."  
  
The younger man just laughed at him. Somehow that was even worse than some sassy comeback. Something in Sören's head snapped. He found himself going to the clothing discarded on the floor - it was pretty easy to tell which was Anthony's, he'd apparently left work early and there was his suit on the floor, the younger man had been wearing a dark blue sweater and light blue jeans. Sören picked up the sweater and jeans and socks and grey boxer-briefs and he threw them at the younger man. "Get dressed and get out."  
  
"Can I at least call a cab first -"  
  
That made Sören even angrier. The _audacity_ of asking to stay a little longer, to call a cab so he wouldn't have to walk in the rain or take a bus or the train or the Tube like some peasant. The audacity of asking to stay in this flat, _their_ flat, just a few minutes more to make that call. Sören found himself snatching the clothes that he'd just thrown, bundling them under one arm, and yanking the younger man up from the bed by his ear, dragging him to the door, opening the door, and giving him a shove onto the top step - naked. Sören threw the clothes at the guy again, this time hitting him in the face with the clothing. "GET! YOU! GONE! YOU _HO!_"  
  
Sören slammed the door behind him. A few seconds later, there was a knock at the door. "I need my shoes."  
  
_You can walk home bloody barefoot for all I care._ But Sören looked down and the man's shoes were next to the shoe rack, brogues but a larger size than what Anthony took. Sören picked them up, making a face as he handled them as if they were contaminated, and then he opened the door up just a few inches - enough to once again smack the other man in the face with his own shoes, before he tossed them down the stairwell. Then Sören slammed the door again.  
  
Sören was shaking again. He could hear himself breathing raggedly. His heart was slamming in his ears, head spinning. The pit of his stomach was rising, an icy grip around it. This was the very last thing he'd expected to come home to, and Sören knew, as he slowly stepped away from the door, that very soon he was not going to have a home anymore. There was no way he could stay here, after this.  
  
For the first time, Sören understood how someone could commit the act of murder. It was tempting to grab a knife from the kitchen, stab Anthony, and then himself. _Get yourself under control._ Sören made himself take deep breaths, began running the scripts in his head that he did before a long surgery.  
  
Before he could think of what to do next, Anthony came out - dressed now, in a white button-down shirt and charcoal-grey suit trousers, from the suit that had been on the floor. In his haste to get dressed two buttons were done wrong. Anthony noticed Sören looking and he swore under his breath and began fixing them, with shaking hands. Then Anthony marched into the kitchen and put on the kettle.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" Sören asked.  
  
"Making _fucking tea._"  
  
It would have been hilarious if Sören were not so angry... and so sad, watching his relationship, his entire life, shatter before his eyes. It was such an Anthony thing to do, so painfully British. For once, Sören didn't nag at him to wash his hands before rummaging around in the kitchen. Sören walked to the armchair in the living room and sat down. He didn't quite understand why he was sitting first, rather than going straight to the bedroom to pack and get out of there - and he was going to do that, he wasn't staying here after this, no matter what Anthony told him - but he made himself sit anyway.  
  
Anthony made two cups of tea and put Sören's in front of him on the coffee table rather than handing it to him. Anthony sat on the couch and for a moment he just buried his face in his hands. Sören watched him shaking and he heard the telltale breathing patterns that indicated he was crying. Usually if Anthony cried it made Sören feel bad, hurting for him, wanting to cry too. But now Sören just watched, not feeling bad for him at all.  
  
Anthony finally took his face out of his hands, still crying, and he had a few sips of tea, and then he leaned back against the couch. "I'm sorry," he said.  
  
"You're sorry you got caught," Sören said, feeling utter contempt. "You're not sorry you did it."  
  
"No, I _am_," Anthony protested. He sighed, and he looked Sören in the eye, and then he fell apart and started sobbing. "I'm so, so fucking sorry..."  
  
"I don't want to fucking hear it," Sören said.  
  
Anthony just cried harder at that. Sören thought about getting up and packing right then, but something in him made him stay at least a little while longer. "So..." Sören pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his face. "Is that your new boyfriend? Do you love him?"  
  
Anthony gave Sören a withering look, as if the mere question offended him. "No," Anthony said. "It was just sex."  
  
Sören wasn't sure if that made it better or worse. "How long has this been going on?"  
  
Anthony looked down and grimaced. "I got an account on Grindr two weeks ago. I got a few messages but his was the first I replied to, and that was a few days ago. So I arranged to go home from work early..."  
  
Sören did the mental math and then he laughed - not a pleasant laugh, a bitter laugh - as the lightbulb went off in his head. "You weren't texting a client that one night, were you?"  
  
"No," Anthony admitted.  
  
"You..." Sören swallowed hard. That made him even angrier than catching Anthony in the act. "You lying-ass motherfucker."  
  
"I'm sorry -"  
  
"I told you, _I don't want to fucking hear it._ Don't give me this sob story about how fucking sorry you are, because if you were _truly_ sorry you wouldn't have done it in the first place. You've been lying to me for at least two weeks now."  
  
Anthony had some more tea. That prompted Sören to have a sip of his, even though Anthony made it and it felt like accepting poison from an enemy. And then Anthony went on. "He was the only person from... the app... that... I... fu..." Anthony winced, closed his eyes, and facepalmed. "Today was the first time."  
  
"And you expect me to believe that."  
  
Anthony opened his eyes and glared. "Sören, I can't force you to believe me. But today was the first time. The only time. I wasn't planning on seeing him again after today -"  
  
"Sure."  
  
A moment of awkward silence hung between them, and even as Sören had doubts as to the veracity of anything Anthony said, his curiosity still got the better of him. "What's his name?"  
  
"Scott."  
  
"Scott..."  
  
"Anderson."  
  
"How old is he? He didn't look that old."  
  
"Twenty. He goes to UCL." Anthony shrugged. "That's really all I know. And I know that much because I asked, because... yes, he seems young."  
  
"So you like them young?"  
  
Anthony facepalmed. "I had specific requirements. No drugs, no diseases, no strings, discrete..." Anthony's voice trailed off and Sören knew he was stopping himself from getting into any other particulars of what he'd said on Grindr. "He was the first person to respond to my profile who looked attractive and actually met the no strings requirement, wasn't hinting at wanting more than just a one-time hookup."  
  
"No strings?"  
  
"I told you, I don't love him. This wasn't love. This was just me getting my needs met."  
  
"Was it really."  
  
Anthony broke down crying again. Sören watched him cry, sipping his tea, and he thought again about getting up, packing, and leaving. But then Anthony choked out, "No, I don't love him. I love _you_. I want _you_. But _you're never around_. You're always working, or too exhausted from working. And when you're not, you don't want to go out anymore. You want to stay home and draw or paint. I don't mind that sometimes, but I mind it being all the time. It feels like a rejection. You love your art more than me. I have needs, and you're so fucking self-absorbed." Anthony swallowed. "I am not going to _beg_ to get my needs met_."_  
  
Sören hissed like a wounded cat. "You have the nerve to call _me_ self-absorbed? You shallow, superficial _fuck_ -"  
  
Anthony's eyes widened and Sören knew he'd hit below the belt. Sören went on. "Yeah. You heard me. You think you're hot shit because you grew up in a mansion, you went to public school, Daddy bought you 'just a Lexus' when you learned how to drive, you have an Audi, you have a Rolex, you live in a posh flat on the riverfront... all outward decoration because you're fucking _empty_ on the inside. You hang out with empty, vain, narcissistic people instead of friendships with real substance. And now that we're past the shiny new relationship stage and things aren't fun all the time, you're done with me and you're off fucking pretty boys from Grindr -"  
  
Anthony recoiled, blinking as if Sören had hit him. Sören clenched his teeth and made a seething noise. Anthony shook his head, the tears coming on again. "I'm _not_ done with you, Sören. We can fix this..."  
  
"No, we can't."  
  
"Sören. I'm _sorry_. I -"  
  
"I told you, _stop_ with the fake apologies already. They mean _nothing._ But then, what else do I expect, from some fake, vain, posh fucking _twat_ like you -"  
  
"Sören, _please._" Anthony shivered, sobbing a little more, then crying silently. "I told you. _I love you._ I don't love him -"  
  
"And yet, there he was, giving you a blowjob instead of me. You know, you could have _asked._ But you didn't. Am I not good enough for you anymore?" Sören sneered. "What does he have that I don't? A trust fund? A Lexus? A yacht?"  
  
Anthony had an angry look on his face, once again seeming offended by Sören's accusation that wealth and outward appearance was all that mattered. "A bigger cock, for one thing."  
  
Sören got up, backhanded him just like he'd backhanded Scott, and then he marched off to the bedroom. He'd heard enough. That was the final nail in the coffin. There was no going back. There was no fixing this. Sören was done.  
  
Sören went to the hall closet and pulled out a garbage bag. Then he went to the laundry hamper in the hallway and grabbed his dirty clothes out of the hamper, stuffed them in the garbage bag. He left the garbage bag by the door of the hall closet and made his way to the bedroom. He pulled out his suitcase and his duffel bag, and started raiding the closet for his scrubs and his other clothes - shirts, sweaters, jeans, leather pants. His heavier winter outerwear. He decided to take the two suits from Emporio Armani, even though he never wore suits. _Never know if I might need them, like to go to a funeral or something._  
  
Anthony came in as Sören was getting his underwear and socks. "What... what are you doing?"  
  
"What does it fucking look like I'm doing?" Sören paused. "Packing. I'm not staying here. I _can't_ stay here. I _won't._ I'm not going to sleep in the same fucking bed that you were _fucking_ him in..."  
  
"Sören, please. We..." Anthony exhaled sharply. "I shouldn't have said what I did, in there."  
  
"You're goddamn right, you shouldn't have." Sören continued getting out his socks and underwear. "But you did anyway. Which speaks fucking volumes."  
  
There was a pause, as if Anthony was in shock, not able to believe what he was seeing, watching as Sören continued to pack. Then Anthony's voice quavered, "Sören, we can still fix this. We can go to counseling together. We can postpone the wedding while we work on our issues -"  
  
Sören whirled around. He gave a bitter laugh. "Oh, the wedding?" Sören took off the engagement ring and threw it at Anthony's face. He missed, and he heard the ring chime as it bounced off the wall in the hallway, chiming again as it fell to the floor. "The wedding is fucking _off_, asshole. You have some real fucking nerve to think I'd walk down the aisle with you and let you swear a fucking _oath_ to me when you fucking _lie_ -"  
  
"Sören, please..."  
  
The pleading just made him even angrier, and, heart pounding, Sören lost his ability to even communicate in English. "_Þú ert lygandi sekkur af skít. Þú hefur einhverja raunverulega fjandans taug til að hugsa um að ég ætla bara að vera hérna eftir það sem þú gerðir og þiggja afsökunarbeiðni þína, treysta öllu því sem þú segir, að ég vilji sofa í því rúmi, að ég vilji snerta þig, halda þér, fokka þér..._" Sören shook his head and snorted with disgust.  
  
"Sören, I don't understand a word of what you just said."  
  
"Good!" Sören threw his socks and underwear on top of the clothes in his suitcase. "_Þú átt ekki skilið eitt einasta orð frá mér, þú sorglegt, lygandi stykki af skít._"  
  
Now that his clothes were packed, Sören had to decide what else was staying... and what he was leaving behind. Sören got the pillowcase with the remnants of his bunny and shoved it in the duffel bag. He grabbed Tony the tiger - even though it was a gift from Anthony and a reminder of him, Sören was used to hugging him and sleeping with him when he was feeling sad and vulnerable. Sören went to the living room and got the Wacom tablet, and his portfolio - he needed his art. He also grabbed the hollow book where he kept dried petals from the flowers Anthony had given him and the collection of handwritten love notes - for some reason he felt compelled to take those. But he decided to leave behind the books of poetry Anthony had given him that first Christmas. And Anthony could have the Rolex, which Sören barely wore. Sören took his Pusheen mug out of the kitchen cupboard where they kept mugs and glasses and bowls; the Pusheen shirt that Anthony had given him was in the suitcase. It was a reminder, but it was also something Sören would have bought for himself, and it was also practical - he needed shirts, he would need a mug for coffee.  
  
The Fabergé egg, a gift from Anthea, was sitting on a shelf. It had been a gift for Sören, and Sören knew Anthony wouldn't begrudge him taking a gift that was his - _I could sell that and buy a really nice place,_ Sören thought to himself. And then he felt a twinge of guilt about the idea of selling something from Anthony's gran. He decided to leave it here, let Anthony have it.  
  
He grabbed his laptop. Anthony was in hysterics now, sobbing, realizing that this was not a drill, this was happening, this was real, Sören was leaving. "Please," Anthony begged. "Please, don't go, we can fix this -"  
  
"_Þegiðu. Haltu kjafti._"  
  
And like that, it was done. Sören zipped up his suitcase and his duffel bag. He marched on ahead, lugging them, making a beeline for the door. He took the key to the flat off his keyring and tossed it on the coffee table - it missed, landing on the floor. Sören didn't care. He opened up the door and started going downstairs, the duffel bag slung over a shoulder, wheeling the suitcase behind him.  
  
And there was Anthony, following him down. They were in the downstairs entrance together, and Sören was angry at himself for not being able to move faster - he could feel a coughing fit coming on, the achiness settling back in, and he was suddenly too hot in his scrubs and his leather jacket. Just before Sören could reach the door to go outside, he heard Anthony's voice.  
  
"Please, Sören, don't leave. Don't leave me -"  
  
Sören turned around just briefly, taking one last look at Anthony in tears, in pain. _This is how I'm going to remember you. You broke my heart, you broke my_ life, _I want to remember you suffering._  
  
Without a single word, Sören turned his back and marched out.  
  
Sören had no idea where he was going, what he was doing. He found himself walking back to the train station, but when he got there, he didn't get on a train or the Underground. He took a seat on a bench, gave into a coughing and sneezing fit, trying to cover his nose and mouth, feeling guilty about all the germs he was spreading around - feeling less guilty that he might have given the flu to Scott and Anthony, _good, they fucking deserve it_ \- and then he pulled out his cell phone and called a cab.  
  
He closed his eyes, and now, finally, the tears came. Slowly and quietly at first. By the time the cab arrived Sören was a wreck, sobbing all the way into the back of the car.  
  
"You OK?" the driver asked.  
  
"No," Sören said.  
  
The driver passed Sören a box of tissues with a sympathetic look. Then he asked, "Where to?"  
  
"Hotel."  
  
  
_  
  
  
Sören spent the next three days in a hotel. He crashed as soon as he arrived, and the following two days were a sort of hell as he coughed and sneezed and puked and shat and had rigors so fierce he thought he was going to break a tooth and he burned and burned and burned with fever, having wild fever dreams about burning ships, waking himself up screaming "BURN THEM ALL".  
  
On the third day Sören still felt terrible, like he had a really bad hangover even though he hadn't touched a drop of alcohol. But he also knew the hotel, while clean and comfortable, was not the best place to recover from the flu - he needed a place of his own. So he ordered room service with coffee, and made himself take a shower while he waited, then he set up his laptop and started charging his cell phone. He needed to set about finding a new place to live.  
  
He'd heard the phone ring in his tossing, turning fever haze over the last couple of days, and he'd let it go to voice mail. Now, as he ate his toast and drank coffee, he checked his voice mail and it was all from Anthony. "Sören, I'm sorry. Please. I love you. I miss you. We can work this out. Please come home." "Sören, it's Anthony. I am so, so, so sorry." Anthony sobbing into the phone and then just hanging up. "Sören, please. Let's fix this. I need you."  
  
Each voice mail was more and more hysterical, until there was one of Anthony just crying, not saying a word. That was the last one. Sören replayed it, feeling a sort of bitter vindictiveness about the sound of him crying, much as once upon a time that sound would have set him off crying too, would have made Sören move mountains, snatch the moon out of the sky to make it better.  
  
There was no way of making any of this better. Sören could not forgive, and he could not forget.  
  
"Go fuck yourself," Sören muttered to the phone as he deleted the voice mails, and then he quipped, "Or you know, let _Scott_ do it." He laughed at his own joke and then he threw his phone across the room, angry with himself for making it - even angrier with Anthony.  
  
The first order of business was trying to find a new place to live. Sören checked Craigslist and looked for available apartments. The key was to be closer to work and have less of a commute and thus buy himself more time for sleep with his crazy schedule, but as much as Sören made fun of Anthony for being posh on his way out, Sören had also become accustomed to a certain lifestyle and he didn't want to go back to something like where he was living in Bromley. Nor did he want to pay out the nose for someplace really flashy, where he'd just be there for sleeping and eating while he spent a hundred hours a week at work.  
  
He narrowed the selection down to a couple places in Covent Garden and Holborn. One of the places in Covent Garden looked really nice, a second-floor flat in a light-colored brick building on a street lined with cherry trees. Sören smiled a little at pictures of the cherry blossoms in spring and he thought about it, and that was going to be his first choice and then he poked at the other listings and one of the locations in Holborn was ideal - a short walk from the National, but that also meant it was a short walk from Lincoln's Inn Fields, and that was a bit too close for comfort for Sören.  
  
Sören decided he'd take a little while to consider it further. He finished his toast, and he opened up a new tab on his laptop to check the latest local news, news for the rest of the UK, and the world news.  
  
Then his morbid curiosity got the better of him and he found himself looking up people named Scott Anderson on the Internet. There were, of course, a lot of people named Scott Anderson, so Sören put in the University of the City of London as a qualifier. That led to a Facebook profile and a Twitter account. The Facebook profile was locked and Sören staunchly refused to use Facebook so there was no way for him to sign in and look without creating an account himself, but the Twitter account was public - mostly memes and asking his "mates" who wanted to go to the pub or to this or to that... but then he scrolled and saw a status message of:  
  
_lol i signed up for grindr, hope it gets attention from some hot daddies and not a scrub._  
  
And there was a link to the Grindr profile. Sören pursed his lips.  
  
Against his better judgment, Sören set up a fake Grindr account with a throwaway e-mail, not intending to use it seriously. He just wanted to look at Scott's profile, even as he hated what he was doing, couldn't believe he was doing this, was irritated with himself.  
  
He almost choked on his orange juice when he saw the username. _Scotty2Hotty._ "You threw our entire life away to fuck _Scotty2Hotty,_" Sören said aloud, incredulous. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and he found himself getting even angrier, that Anthony had done what he'd done with _this twit_. Sören did a double cringe when he saw Scott used the same handle across social media - he hadn't noticed his Twitter was under the same username, but there it was, and he was on Tumblr there too.  
  
Sören took a moment to bury his face in his hands, making little screaming noises.  
  
Then Sören browsed the gallery of selfies on Scott's profile, looking at Scott's body - Scott was definitely a twink - and the dick pics. Ordinarily Sören had no issue looking at this sort of thing - he'd watched his share of porn in the days before he and Anthony got together, though he tended to prefer well-written erotica - but now he felt cheap and gross and disgusting looking at Scott's gallery, even moreso when he wondered what kind of Grindr profile Anthony had and if Anthony was on display like a piece of meat to attract people like this, if Anthony had dick pics for the world to see. He thought about trying to do a search for Anthony's account but his heart was racing again, the fury in him rising, knowing he'd probably end up breaking his laptop and he rather needed that.  
  
Sören clicked out of the Grindr tab and took some deep breaths, trying to calm down. He needed a distraction before he acted on the impulse to look up Anthony on Grindr. So he called the contact number for the flat in Holborn.  
  
Sören expected to have a wait time, and more days in the hotel if not weeks, but the landlord told him that the place was vacant and freshly cleaned and if he showed up today and he liked the place and had a deposit, he could move in as soon as he wanted to. So Sören made himself get dressed - he felt guilty about going out when he was sick, not wanting to spread the flu to others, and he added a mask and gloves to help protect other people from his germs. Just as he put the mask on, his cell phone rang again, and it was Anthony.  
  
Sören thought about letting it go to voice mail, but Anthony had already spammed his voice mail enough over the last few days. _I am going to nip this shit in the bud right now._ "_Jæja_," Sören snapped, letting Anthony hear the irritation in his voice.  
  
"Sören. Hi."  
  
"What. _What._"  
  
"Sören. Please come home. Please, let's work on this." Anthony was crying again. "I miss you. I miss you so much. I need you. I love you. I'm falling apart without you, I feel like I'm drowning..."  
  
Sören gave a bitter laugh. "Learn to swim." Then he ended the call.  
  
Five minutes later, just as Sören was putting on his Doc Martens, about to head out the door, the phone rang again. "Anthony Hewlett-Johnson, I swear to _fucking_ god."  
  
"Please."  
  
"You. Stop. Calling. Me. We are _done._ This is _done._ Over. Finished. Gone. Goodfuckingbye." And then Sören hung up.  
  
Sören looked out the hotel room window at the rain pouring outside and gave a reluctant sigh, not wanting to go out in that weather when he was sick like this. That too was Anthony's fault - he could have been resting, recovering at home if Anthony hadn't done what he'd done.  
  
He still loved Anthony, and he hated that he did. He couldn't just get over a love like that, the great love of his life. But his heart was broken, and above and beyond that, his pride had been wounded. He had been disrespected - first by Anthony's friends, now by Anthony himself. He had been an abused child, he had been bullied in school, he had been raped by a stranger in Iceland, and he was not going to stand for the man who was supposed to be building a better life with him, turning out to be shitty too, yet another villain in the tragedy of his life. He had been _insulted_, and no one treated him like that with impunity... Not anymore.  
  
Nonetheless, Sören shed a few silent tears. The rain was coming down, and so was his future, and all of his hopes and dreams. He, too, was going to have to learn how to swim in the flood.


End file.
